


The Crimson King

by jbmonarch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasy, Gay Sex, Historical Dress, M/M, Mystery, Romance, Shameless Smut, Steampunk, Vampire Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-08-20 21:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 78,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbmonarch/pseuds/jbmonarch
Summary: Kirin was an immortal who had every luxury life could offer - wealth, power, talent. However, brought low due to unforeseen circumstances, he finds himself isolated, lonely, and in great need of an escape from the dreary life he has been forced to suffer. Imprisoned in the dungeons of a place he once thought of as home, he finds a secret beneath his cell, and within it, a man much more dangerous and mysterious than he could ever imagine. Forced to grapple with his attraction, fear, and curiosity, Kirin finds himself swept up in Angeles' pace - yet what future can that hold, when he finds himself in the hands of such a frightening ancient immortal whose enigmatic presence haunts his every thought?Enjoy their erotic steampunk fantasy tale, and please be patient for the slow-reveal plot to unfold! In the mean time, enjoy all their steamy encounters.





	1. Alone in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is an explicit version of the story serial running concurrently on tapas.io

　　How many dark filled days had it been already? No light penetrated these dank dungeons, none had for some measure of time. Was it months? Years? He hadn’t cared to count in the beginning, but now he wondered if that nonchalance would haunt him. He hadn’t thought it would take so long. The darkness was serene at first; it held within it a nothingness that let the mind wander in abstract, intriguing ways. It gave one time to consider the course of life, death, fate, the universe. It made the ache of hunger less desperate after the long hours between feedings.

　　Ah. There was light then. In those few moments, a gap opened near the door. A flicker, so bright his eyes would be repulsed by it, though he was sure it was actually quite dim by normal standards. It would cast the dreary world he dwelt in a soft orange glow. His chamber was vast, and tattered. Chains, long abandoned to rust and decay, littered the walls and crumbled on the floor. The mat that served as his bed had unsavory stains which he tried not to contemplate too deeply. Knowing their origin was too much. After the light faded, and his eyes adjusted once more to the bleakness, he would make his way to the door.

　　It was a loathsome existence. He felt his knees scrape against the filthy floor, could feel that the repeated action had worn away what was once fine fabric, so that his bare skin brushed against the stony surface. His hands had once been fine, delicate things, but were now marred with dirt, caked with the disgust of this place, and scarred from the multiple collisions with the wall they regularly sustained from his frustrated tantrums. He knew it was useless.

　　The first few days, he had sworn he would starve himself. The food they offered was beyond disgusting - he was sure it came from an animal. As though they could force him to dine on such a low creature - they would not dare. But they did. And his pride did not win against his hunger for long. The sanguine liquid was as filling as any other, though it had made him wretch for weeks at first. Now, it went down without any difficulty. He wondered if his body had adapted to the stale flavor of it, to the cold, thick liquid filling his veins. The thought was revolting - likely as revolting as he was becoming.

　　Self pity was pathetic. It took him a long time to accept that.

　　Afterward, it was simply boring. He had nothing to do. He wanted to escape, but knew he could not. However it seemed, he was neither forgotten nor unguarded. Whatever sin he had committed would not go unpunished - though he was certain the sin was not of his own causation. It was around that time, after the months or weeks or years of his imprisonment, when he first found the loose brick. 

　　It was by pure happenstance. He had decided to see the full extent of his little cell, to feel the floor with his crusted hands, to count how many tile compiled together into the surface. It was something to do, to exercise his mind gone soft. He had not expected to feel one teetering so precariously. Despite such, as he probed it, he discovered it was still fairly secure. What was beneath his cage, he wondered. What could be even further from the furthest depths of this forsaken place. There was a sudden, almost desperate need to discover it. Perhaps it was because he was so dreadfully bored, or because the darkness and silence were wearing on him, or perhaps it was that slim hope that it might lead to an escape from this dank cell. It did not matter why, and he did not dwell on the various possibilities. What mattered was the discovery.

　　He never received any utensils. They were most unnecessary for a liquid diet, such as his kind employed. But there were remnants in the debris of this place, and among them he found a broken cuff with enough strength left to not brittle under force. It meant leaving the loose brick, however, and finding it again proved something of a chore. Luckily, something he did not lack at the moment was time. It was loud, the sound of metal clanging against stone. After so long with nothing but the still air and quiet, measured breathing of his own chest, it was deafening - it was like waking from a deep slumber to the sound of sirens and war. 

　　He didn’t see where to target, but he felt it. His fingers found the grout, worn away, felt the edges of the bricks used to make this prison. His arms hurt before long, throbbed with each strike of metal against the hard surface. Wetness began to weaken his grip. Sweat or blood. Perhaps both. He did not care, and the pain was an annoyance more than anything else. He continued. It must have been for a very long time - before he was done, the chamber lit up with the orange glow, and the sloshing sound of his next meal being given filled the area. His work paused. Whoever left the food did not care for the noise he was making, did not find it significant in the slightest, and did not so much as pause for any longer than necessary before disappearing again. He never heard them come. He wondered if anyone ever did. Perhaps it was an enchantment.

　　He did not stop for long. It was almost there. He could feel it. He set the metal aside, he knew it was blood now, and began to claw around the stone. His fingers could just fit. A little more and - it dislodged. The swell of triumph was so elating, he felt nauseous. He had to set the stone to the side. To his surprise, there was the faintest of light beneath it. Far below, like the glow of stars in the night. It did not take so long before his eyes adjusted, for it was not so garish as the light of his meal bringer. His floor was only a brick thick - that seemed dangerous. It would not take long for someone to tunnel out at that rate. The design seemed problematic. 

　　After the initial triumph wore off, the exhaustion hit. His hands ached, his arms throbbed, and he only now became aware of how labored his breathing had become. When did he become so weak? He was sure this was not how he should be. It was the food, this place, his isolation - they were wearing him away like a stone under the river, slowly but surely waning into nothing. Self loathing ebbed and dissipated, replaced by a quiet, seething rage. He would get revenge some day. Perhaps through this hole. But it was not large enough for him, he knew, and just now he did not feel it was within him to finish the work. The other bricks were more solidly placed. 

　　No. For now, he would eat. And sleep.


	2. Into the Pit

　　It had to have been days before he had relocated enough of the bricks to create an opening large enough for himself. No, perhaps longer. He discovered, to his chagrin, that the design was not so flawed after all. He had to be careful which bricks he chiseled out, for not all lead to the pit The expansion was arduous, but after the first few days, he felt very satisfied to have it. The light did not penetrate into his cell, but he could now look down into a world less bleak. It was a change. It was a hope.

　　It was a secret passage.

　　When he finally opened the hole large enough, it was unmistakable. This was not a coincidence. The stone that led down had definite rungs carved into it, like a ladder which descended into the star-filled blackness. His hope swelled - finally. After so long, he could be free. Someone before him had been here, had made this, and he simply needed to reap the rewards. After, he thought, he could discover who else had been imprisoned here, who had escaped, and visit their grave to pay tribute, to give thanks. But first, he would travel into that glowing cavern.

　　His hands were not adept at climbing. They had become even more abused, sore, and blistered from his new-found digging hobby, and it took only a few steps down the wall before he lost grip and fell. The narrow passage was unforgiving, his slight frame tossed down it like a sack of meat, banging mercilessly against the walls, reminding him of places he had forgot could hurt. When he hit the hard floor, he was almost grateful - it could have been a longer drop. But his body was less convinced, and it took several minutes before he thought he might be able to move. 

　　Fortunately, his kind were notoriously difficult to kill. His bones would not break so easily, even if his flesh was less resilient, tearing under the abuse. The loss of blood was frustrating, but he knew he would not starve, at least. Unless he got lost. No, he wouldn’t think about that. He needed to discover where he was. Sheer will got his eyes open, and further conviction made him sit up. Then, all at once, his hope was shattered.

　　The scene revealed to him was haunting. It was not an escape, at all, but simply a more morbid cage - a tomb. This sort of thing was not uncommon for his people, burying their dead deep in the ground. A single sarcophagi rested in the center of a large dome carved from the stone. The soft glow of algae, or perhaps worms, or some other fluorescent organism was giving off the subtle light. The sound of water running, a quiet trickle, was not far off. Oddly, he noted, the chamber was barren of the usual offerings paid to the dead. It did not have vases full of finery, nor the trophies that the honored spirit may have won in life. The homage of the passing of the immortal race was usually grand. A shiver ran down his spine - this must have been the resting place of a great sinner.

　　That made the most sense. Buried below the dungeon of the palace, held close yet as far away as possible. Honored or shamed. The state of the grave told him the latter. Sluggishly, he willed himself to move, and so he did. The dim light let him see himself for the first time in so long. His clothes were rags, held together in the most miserable of states, torn and filthy. His skin was so white, it could be translucent in a brighter light, and covered in scrapes and bruises that were utterly unbecoming. The amount of filth that clung to him was repulsive. But then... There was water here.

　　His eyes scanned the area, and found the source. A small stream trickled down the wall to the far side of the chamber, and as he approached, he was practically overjoyed to see that it pooled into a small, but usable spring before continuing on its trail. However sore his body was, it would not hinder him from this. His shirt was the first to be removed, so quickly that he felt a little light headed. His fingers went to his trousers, and clumsily worked on their buttons.

　　“What... A lovely smell...”

　　He froze. The sound was soft, but it penetrated his ears as sharply as an arrow would his flesh. Panic seized him, sudden and irrational and overwhelming. He spun around too quickly for his injured body, tripping himself up and falling - but not before his eyes widened with the sight they saw. A body from the stone coffin, rising up. It wasn’t bones, decayed and falling apart. Whole. Living. Too thin, perhaps, with hair too long, left untrimmed. But it moved, slowly at first - then it was gone.

　　The flicker of a thought that contained the futile hope that it was a mirage was shattered as he felt arms, crushingly strong, catch him from falling into the spring. It knocked the breath out of him, and he was almost certain he felt the crack of his bones - as unlikely as that may be. Then something hot, on his skin, hot and wet and burning - then a sharp pain. It was too much, too quickly. Blackness came.


	3. The Nightmare Begins

　　Shock induced dreams plagued him. He remembered the sun, bright and warm on his flesh. He heard his sister call after him as they played in the hedge maze. He laughed like mad, and then stopped abruptly when he turned the corner to find his brother entwined with one of the servants. The noises they were making were loud, almost painful. He turned quickly to catch his sister, covering up her eyes and mouth. “Shhh,” he warned her. He stayed and watched - he had never see it before. Then it shifted, and he was at his first party, the one where his family debuted him. Voices all around him spoke praise, but he felt their cold eyes, their hatred, their envy. He felt most of all how empty a full room could be. And then the fire started. It flicked across them, ravenous, setting the aristocracy aflame, but they just kept laughing like nothing was wrong. He was scared, it was coming for him, he ran - so far, so long, but it was there, following, trying to catch him.

　　

　　He woke with a start, everything burning and painful. His breath was ragged, sweat covering his skin. He was on the hard floor, with something bundled beneath his head. He felt even more grotesque then before, and he could see - he was still in the dome. The faint glow was no longer refreshing, but a reminder of the disturbing events that had taken place not long ago. 

　　“Are you finally truly awake?”

　　The voice was such a silken sound, it was the kind that made an individual melt from just hearing it. It made him shiver, and he wasn’t sure if it was in revulsion or not. He was fairly sure it was. Slowly, he sat up, trying to gain an awareness of his surroundings, and most of all, seeking to find the owner of the voice. It did not take very long. As he scanned the room, a hand reached out to grasp his chin, the grip firm though not crushing, turning his head around to angle behind him. Reflexively he reached up to smack it away and retreat, though another hand dashed out to claim his arm, preventing him from escaping too far. Fear gripped his chest, but years of stubborn pride forced it down, forced him to put on the expression of an offended, haughty noble rather than a scared mouse. The turbulent emotions frustrated him, and he willed with every fiber of his being for them to stop, calm, and turn to apathy.

　　However, before he could summon up some sort of retort, he was taken aback by the individual before him. Eyes like liquid gold glowed faintly, as though they had some fluorescent quality of their own, reflecting the slightly bluish light of the room in a most mesmerizing way. Not a corpse in the least, thick lashes framed the piercing depths of this male. He was not young, but he was also not old. Maturity rang in the exquisite features of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his red-stained lips, but he did not boast a single wrinkle. His hair was a dark red, like blood, and trailing in unkept waves down his form. Broad shoulders, a bare chest, his length was easily much more impressive that the captured creature’s own.

　　He was certainly the most dazzling creature that had ever been seen, and the nobleman was not deprived of beauties in his life. The sight caught his voice in his throat, and gave the other time to make his own observations. Whatever he saw caused a smirk to decorate that gorgeous face.

　　“I must apologize for my actions. I always wake with such a ravenous hunger, and your blood was... Intoxicating. I will attempt more caution and care, since it seems I have given you a fright.” He sounded sincere enough, if not moderately amused, the velvet of his voice nearly purring out. And as if to show good will, he released his hold altogether. 

　　It was more irksome than reassuring.

　　Kirin had never been a trusting person. It was a trait that developed when one lived among the upper echelon of society, where few were honest with their desires and everyone played at politics. Instinct told him that, despite any words and actions and how absolutely enticing this creature was, he was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. His flight urge was blaring in his blood, but something else, something foreign, compelled him to stay. It was only then that he realized what a pleasant aroma had suddenly filled the air. Was that the scent of this man? The urge to lean forward and check caught him so off guard, he was half doing it when he suddenly stopped, leaned back, and turned away. 

　　His mind was muddy. He needed to think clearly. To give him time, he scrounged up his voice, “This is a tomb.” It was the best he could do on such short notice, since part of him did not want any new information to cloud his judgment. He sorted out the details, one by one, in a cold and analytic way, willing himself to return to the sharpness of wit he had before his imprisonment. He had been bitten. There was a throbbing at his throat, that was where it started. The other was like him, then, which was hardly surprising. Though drinking the blood of ones own kind was a taboo, one of the greatest sins that could be done. He had never really wondered why. It seemed obvious. Self preservation as a species. 

　　The soft laughter that followed his comment was only mildly distracting. It was a very attractive sound. Many people did not laugh well, but this man seemed adept at everything. Wait, he couldn’t know that yet - why would he think that? Focus. Perhaps this was just another prison, rather than a tomb. But that seemed extreme. He wondered what crime could have been committed for that end to be possible. The immortal race could be killed. There were ways, though they disliked to discuss them. One of them was... It must have been by consuming the life of another. That was the taboo. A sick feeling in his stomach suddenly began churning - had his life been ebbed away? Would he live a shorter life now?

　　“You are an astute sort, despite your appearance. Tell me. Were you a servant caught stealing, or a noble who refused the wrong marriage?”

　　Bristling, Kirin turned back to the other, meeting his gaze with his own purple orbs. “Do I look like a servant to you?” he spat with as much venom as he could muster. He was almost not taken aback by the man’s startling appeal this time. Almost. The smirk expanded into a grin, flashing white fangs and perfect teeth. It was annoying when it made Kirin shiver. He wondered if the heat in his face was obvious or not.


	4. The Flicker of Flames

　　The other’s hands were large, with claws that seemed overly fierce for modern culture, and when he captured the smaller hand of his companion, it took great self control not to pull away. A stubborn bone refused to cow down before the frightful man. Those glowing golden eyes lowered to inspect the limb, and embarrassment suddenly filled the young prisoner. He did look like a servant right now, didn’t he? His own claws had broken off, a layer of filth stuck between his remaining nail and flesh. The delicate digits which would play the violin so beautifully were gone. These were vile, torn up and unkempt, covered in grime and disgust. He felt they were even more repulsive under such a pensive stare, such an observation from someone as beautiful and - oddly enough - clean as this individual. He pulled his hand away suddenly, folding them together in front of him, hiding them without truly hiding anything. 

　　The shame was unbearable, and it bubbled up so suddenly, it would have caused a lesser man to cry. Kirin never cried. Instead, he shifted it into rage. Outrage at his situation, his imprisonment, the depths to which he had fallen, but most of all, towards the critical eye of this perfect creature. Who was he to pass judgment with such a cursory observation? The color on his cheeks was fuming red now, and his violet eyes daggered nothing short of a venomous glare towards his companion.

　　The larger man was utterly unmoved.

　　“Very well. Let me start the introductions. My name is Angeles, and this is my tomb, as you would call it. Who are you, my soiled nobleman, and what brings you to this destitute place?” 

　　The realization that he had not conversed with anyone in a very long time hit him like a bullet, and made him at once self conscious and elated, piercing through his anger. Another voice. Another soul. It was not what he had thought to find down here, but it was not overly terrible... Yet. And scapegoating the man as the object of his displeasure was rather unjust, and wasteful of such a break in the monotony that was his current life. He decided there was no harm in entertaining the questions, since he honestly could not run away. If he could climb back up into his cell, so could this man. With only passing care, he noted that the other gave no surname. So he echoed him when he spoke in reply.

　　“I am Kirin. This place is below my cell. I thought it might lead to an escape.” The words were easier than he expected they would be. His flight instinct had not relaxed, though.

　　“Prison is more pleasant with company, I suppose,” Angeles spoke, though his voice was suddenly cold, not as appealing as before. It was a passing shift, for within the next breath, he was leaning forward, a hand reaching up to lift up Kirin’s chin once more. Inclined dangerously close to the other man’s face, he uttered more softly, “More things to pass the time with.” 

　　He should have expected what followed, indeed he should have, for he was neither ignorant nor innocent. But the situation seemed so ludicrous, the act so uncalled for, he did not. When lips pressed against his own, his whole body tensed. He did not yield easily, but with the heady scent that Angeles gave off filling him up, and his lips so persistent and sensuous, the beseeching of his teeth against Kirin’s own mouth the perfect mix between demand and entreating, that it was quite without logical awareness that his mouth parted and welcomed in the foreign tongue. It was hot and wet, and utterly delicious. His taste was exotic and intoxicating, and caused excited tendrils to quiver down Kirin’s whole body, easing the tension. 

　　Angeles pressed further, his tongue exploring the warm cavern of the stranger’s mouth, his hand shifting from chin to neck, curling behind to cradle his head. It had been too long since he tasted flesh, since he savored the flavor of another, and he found it too appealing an opportunity to miss. His other hand was not content to sit idle, but instead wandered wantonly down, eager to drift over the bare skin of his new companion’s chest. He paused upon the nipple, pinching it lightly between his fingertips, teasing it with a twist and pull. The boy withdrew, just slightly and released such an enticing sound, a cry which stimulated long dormant desires.

　　The heat between the pair rose. Encouraged by the yielding nature of Kirin’s body, Angeles pressed further, boldly, brasher - what seemed an eon of isolation and neglect surmounted in limited restraint, a carnal lust for the taste of another. Perhaps it was that fact which made this exchange so impassioned, that built the feeling in the pit of his stomach into a swell of warmth, of yearning, which set his flesh aflame every time it happened to brush, grind, and caress against that of the others. It was exquisite, and it was urgent. His hand shifted, snaking behind Kirin’s narrow abdomen, capturing the base of his back and pulling him forward, crushing their bodies together. He could feel the intensity of heat as their groins ground together, felt a sudden spike of pleasure quake through his form, mirrored in the shudder that besieged his companion. 

　　It was nearly more than he could bear.

　　But then, Kirin escaped.

　　He could have stopped him, was ever so close to doing so, but rape was much less satisfying than a willing surrender. That fact left a bitter taste on his tongue as Angeles watched the emotions shift upon Kirin’s face, was witness to desire giving in to fear, hesitation conquered by indignation, then the bruised immortal pushed away, scampered to his feet in a most inelegant manner, and dashed towards the entrance of the tomb. Angeles watched, and the sudden lack of warmth, the desolation of isolation once more was frustrating. It was betrayed on his face, a most dissatisfied stare as he willed himself to allow it despite the yearning that pulsed through his veins, filled so completely with the flavor of the younger immortal. 


	5. The Choice

　　“Let us resume when you muster up your courage, shall we, Kirin?” The words followed him as he scurried up the clefts in the wall, hurrying so as to escape even though he knew it was futile. It would not be a grand matter to be followed up. But the words did give him some confidence he may not be, even while they stoked a new rage within him - it was likely simply his body repurposing the passionate fires that had just been lit in his chest. His heart was beating loudly in his ears, his breath coming rapidly, and as he reached the top, reached the blackness of his familiar cell, he scrambled out of the hole and over to his wretched bed, finding it for the first time not so terrible, laying his sore frame down as he attempted to calm his frantic mind and nerves.

　　He’d gotten too excited - it was shameful how easily he had been stimulated. Since when was he so sensitive? Ah, right. The isolation. That sort of complete absence of stimuli was bound to increase susceptibility to it. This rationale was hardly comforting. He could still feel the heat trailing over his skin where Angeles’ hands were touching, could feel a sweet ache between his thighs from the dissatisfaction he was left with. Closing his eyes to it was worse, for there, like a phantom, that Adonis waited for him, watching in his mind’s eye, those golden eyes stripping him of shame and hesitation, daring him to dive into the depths of temptation all over again. The mere thought was enough to make him mad with frustration, both at how easily his body had been stirred and how weak it was for him to run away. Wait, that wasn’t it. Resisting temptation was a strong act. Yet, right now it felt terribly cowardly. He didn’t want to consider why, for too much time and he was sure to understand the puzzlement. Instead, why had it even happened in the first place?

　　Vaguely, he could remember how bored he was not so very long ago, before he found the loose brick in the ground. He would likely have accepted any distraction then. Perhaps that was the motivating factor behind the other man’s actions, if he had been imprisoned there for so long. But, wait, that didn’t make any sense. Even an immortal needs food. There was no escape from that chamber, other than the one Kirin had dug up. How had that creature stayed alive for so long without sustenance?

　　It was too much. Too soon. And he couldn’t focus his thoughts, his body still throbbing with need and desire. His mind had been worn away by the time in isolation, and this was all just an overload. He needed to shut it down and think calmly, clearly. He did not hear anything from the chamber below. He took that as a good sign. Somehow, after some time, he managed to sleep again, the throes he had been plunged into subsiding. And this time, it was blissfully without dreams.

　　

　　Angeles never climbed up the passage to Kirin’s cell. After several days, or what Kirin was reasonably sure were days, passed, he was becoming more confident that he would not. And he had thought through much of the actions. He had decided that sudden exposure to food and flesh likely caused a bit of poor judgment for both Angeles and himself, and that what had happened could be chalked up to an unfortunate series of events. And, when left to contemplation, he couldn’t help but admit it wasn’t so very terrible. Part of him had festered on a sense of regret, a morbid curiosity that begged the question, what if he had stayed? And then, after a few feedings in him, Kirin was feeling more healed and of a sound mind, the cobwebs of his inactivity cleared out. He was willing to indulge in his curiosity once more. 

　　“Oi, Angeles?” he called down the shaft. No sound returned up to him. “Are you still there?” The faint glow had not changed, and by now, he was reasonably sure it was not all some twisted fantasy of his own mind’s imaginations. It relieved him that he wasn’t that masochistic.

　　After some minutes of silence, the man himself moved out into the dim glow at the bottom of the hole, looking upwards. His expression was placid, unreadable, and his voice sounded disinterested when he spoke, “I have no care to raise my voice at you. Come down if you seek my audience.”

　　“Agree to stay away if I do?” It was worth a shot. A part of him regretted the words immediately - but wasn’t that what he wanted?

　　The man at the bottom just walked away. Kirin sighed. He had decided, some time ago, that the threat of being devoured by that man was not much worse than his current state of doing absolutely nothing. So, in a way, he had accepted the dangers, even though part of him was still rather terrified of the true extent of them. He knew next to nothing, after all, about the other. This time, his hands were not so injured that he fell, and when he climbed down, he made it to the bottom with mostly ease. Unsurprisingly, as he turned around, he was faced with the impressive form of his fellow prisoner. With both on feet, the difference in size was more apparent. Kirin had never been a tall man, but he was passing on average, usually a few inches taller than most women. This Angeles put that average to shame. He had to be a foot taller, which made it incredibly uncomfortable for Kirin, who had to look up to meet his eyes, facing that golden gaze that pierced right into him. 

　　Before he could feel strange, he calmed his blood. It was a practice he had mastered as a child, a way to achieve a sense of focus even under stress. His own gaze turned cold, critical, and he was almost sure he could sense amusement in the expression of the other.

　　“I don’t barter or beg,” Angeles said, his voice as smooth as silk and ever appealing to the ears. “I have no reason to take, when you are so willing to give.” 

　　His confidence made Kirin scoff, though it felt like an act of bravado more than anything else. “As if,” the smaller man stated with a forced confidence of his own, but it was enough that Angeles moved out of the way. Though not without a knowing smirk that prickled the skin on the back of Kirin’s neck, irking him to the extreme. But the man walked away and alighted himself onto the side of his coffin, dangling his legs over the edge. It occurred to Kirin once more that he was shirtless, but his pants seemed in good condition. Another odd fact. Then again, he had abandoned his own shirt the last time he had come here. It was a good thing that he rarely felt the cold. 

　　The memory of it drew his gaze to the pool on the far end, and, as if reading his train of thought, Angeles spoke in a nonchalant way, “If you wish to wash off yourself, I will not disturb you. If you are not a servant, that state must be most unpleasant.”

　　There was not much point in arguing the fact, though some part of him bristled at the implication that he was filthy. He was. That couldn’t be denied. And he also very much wanted to be rid of it. However, there was no privacy to be had here, and he expected that if he requested it, he would simply be laughed at. This creature did not seem keen to give very much of anything. The assurance that he would not be disturbed would have to be enough.


	6. A Helping Hand

　　Embarrassment was not something many immortals had for their body. Their culture was one which indulged plentifully in the many wonders of flesh, and Kirin had even had the misfortune of stumbling upon one of the more risque parties among the aristocracy, which featured many nudists and orgies which he had simply no interest in. He had never found a partner which made him indulge in the act as lasciviously as some of his fellows, but he was also not unaware of it. Yet, in the presence of this particular stranger, an individual which was so foreign and unknown to him that he could hardly consider him kin, it felt wrong to expose himself. Not to mention, being compared to such a perfect specimen would make almost anyone a little self conscious.

　　His need to not be filthy was more powerful than some fleeting shyness. He made quick work of removing his clothing, simply because he could feel, rather than see, the gaze of his companion on him. The brazen stare, like a ray of sunlight, trailing over his lithe form. Too quickly, he slipped into the water - the splash that accompanied his near tumble was terribly inelegant. His ancestors must be ashamed of the pathetic being he had become, so very against the grain of what their society deemed a suitable disposition in this moment.

　　 It was cold - nearly freezing - and that was a blessing. It was hard for the body to reach excitement when surrounded in such a chilling environment, and something told him he would need all the help to stay calm he could get. And it was water nevertheless, which he had been given none to bathe with these long months. Or years. Time. It was a shallow pool, but deep enough that he could submerge if he curled up tightly enough, and with enough breadth that Angeles could likely join him. The thought roused an imagination of the act, of the water rippling around the long limbs of this chamber’s occupant, the soft sigh escaping his lips as he submerged into the crisp depths. Heat crept up his cheeks, and Kirin mentally chastized himself for allowing that train of thought to leave the station, hesitantly glancing back towards the object of his fantasy as if to determine whether he knew such lewd recesses of his mind. Bad choice. 

　　Golden eyes stared at him, hot and persistent, shimmering with the flames of desire. Some possessed the ability to undress an individual with their eyes, to catch every curve and contour of the body even concealed beneath fabric. Angeles took this talent further - there was the distinct impression that he could devour Kirin with just a look. Caress every inch of him, penetrate into depths yet unknown, that the mere thought conveyed within that gaze would somehow bring the fantasy to fruition. It set a fire across the pallid flesh of the smaller male, and he quickly looked away, indulging in a full submersion into the water.

　　 The feel of the cold as it wrapped around his deprived flesh was soothing and enjoyable, a needed distraction from the lustful golden orbs that never faltered in their intensity. Already, it felt better - his heart slowed in its beat, leaving him curious as to when it had reached such a fervent tempo. The water cleansed his mind, briefly, of the feel of that man’s touch, the memory of warmth unbearable, his skin left crisp, but still too dirty. Right. He knew that scrubbing would be required before he was truly clean again, and he wondered if any amount of scrubbing would be able to disinfect his disgusting form. Grit was not at all an attractive feature.

　　As he arose, curiosity - a sick emotion - forced him to glance back at the other man... Again. Angeles had not moved from his position, perhaps true to his word of not interrupting him, yet his eyes continued to pierce straight into him, fucking him with their stare. The expression he wore only made it worse, a sight that betrayed intimacy reserved only for the bedroom, his smile languid but suggestive, the slack posture and propped legs somehow inviting and disarming all at the same time. Heat rose within his cheeks despite the cold that engulfed him, again threatening a warmth that started in his blood, that worked from his heart that quickened its pounding. He had never been so aware of that organ in himself, even though it was a sound he often listened for in others. Since when was it so loud in his ears? Turning away, seeking to ignore that sensation, he busied himself with focusing on his hands. Clawing away the dirt and grime. 

　　Suddenly, an arm reached into the water beside him, so unexpectedly he actually gave a faint shriek, grasping at something on the stony water bed. His body reflexively sought escape, his legs kicking out to propel himself from the water, but a firm hand behind his form kept him in place. Whipping around, his expression shifted from shock to the best display of outrage he could manage, given his vulnerable position.

　　The long haired monster in all his glory knelt next to the pool, those devilish eyes even more unnerving from this intimate distance than they had been half a room away. His lips maintained that almost lazy smile, giving his expression a touch of youthful mischief.

　　“You bastard - you said you wouldn’t disturb me!” Kirin was impressed with himself - he sounded firmer and stronger than he felt when confronted with the stranger. His back arched, his posture adopting the rigid countenance honed from the court life he had been expected to lead up until this point, and he feigned as much an intimidating persona as he could muster. It felt futile, like a child playing at being adult, when compared with Angeles’ natural ease at commanding the situation.

　　“This isn’t a distruption, it is an assistance,” the red haired male answered simply, the amusement in his tone clear and unapologetic. “Besides, your doe eyes were inviting me. I am merely answering you.”

　　“W-what?! I would nev-!”

　　Lips crushed against his own, silencing the train of indignation, of refusal, of denying something he was loath to accept as reality. This was harsher than the last time, Angeles’ teeth scraped against Kirin’s lips, splitting them slightly, mercilessly. It sucked all the air out of the smaller man’s lungs, stripped him of the bravado he had just confidently mustered, but only momentarily. It was just so shocking.

　　Perhaps as startling as the resounding slap that echoed in the cavernous chamber as Kirin’s open palm collided with Angeles’ left cheek.

　　The act cut off the kiss and caused a bloom of color to spread upon the perfect complexion of the larger man. For the first time, his expression was wide-eyed and bewildered, perplexed that such an act should come to pass. And, suddenly, the pit of Kirin’s stomach knotted and he felt an overwhelming fear and regret for the act, since he had no way of knowing whether the man before him would retaliate in full force or not. He had the instinctive feeling that there would not be much chance, were that the case, to get away unscathed. If he could at all. His mouth parted, starting to form an apology, one which was spurred along more from fear than actually believing the act was unjust, when Angeles shifted his face back to him once more, and the sound of soft chuckling filled the air.

　　It was so melodious, once again Kirin was left breathless. Even with his crimson hair dislodged and concealing half his face, it was evident that the other had not lost his good humor. Reaching out to catch Kirin’s hand, Angeles leaned forward - clearly not having learned any lesson at all - and licked his tongue seductively across the slighter male’s lips, lapping up the small blood which had been brought to the surface by the aforementioned brutish kiss.

　　“You have spunk. Come, I won’t do it again. Let me help you. My touch won’t be so unforgiving as yours was just now.”

　　Kirin bit his lip, torn between fear and shame. There was no way to reject the thoughts he was most certainly having about the man, the assumptions he had made regarding that golden stare, or the fleeting fantasies he had allowed to be entertained. Part of him, he could feel based on his quickened heart and the warmth he felt tingling through his veins, had been asking for that kiss. Begging for it. But even so, it was unexpected, and he had reacted impulsively. His mind teetered between two extremes, fighting further or running away.

　　In the end, he acquiesced, yielding to that shameful part of himself that he knew would not be at ease unless he discovered why this male was so appealing, so fascinating, so frustratingly tempting. He looked away from Angeles, but allowed his body to shift closer to him, his voice a sulking sound when he spoke, “Fine... How are you helping?”

　　The answer for that was in action, not words. The long fingers and strong hands of his companion pressed against his abdomen, at first, and he felt at once the gritty substance that was against his palms. Confused he looked down, watching as Angeles scrubbed against his slim torso with a handful of sand, leaving flushed red skin in the wake, rubbed crisp and clean. At once, he felt foolish and embarrassed, and then in the next breath, consciously aroused. The act of being washed by another was such a very intimate thing, so exposed as he was, and his body lit up with an exquisite kind of yearning everywhere Angeles touched. His heart fluttered at an almost painful rate, so rapidly he was sure it was in danger of bursting at any moment, and the progress of those sensual hands, in the guise of helping, was arduously slow, every scrub meticulously placed so that a nail might trail down a stimulating line, his fingers brushing against his collar, down his spine. 

　　“Stop - stop, I can finish by myself.” He found himself speaking without really meaning to, but didn’t regret the suggestion when it came out. There was a long pause, the hands stopping in their movement against his body, before a sigh seemed to concede to the younger man’s demand. 

　　“Have it your way. For now.”

　　Glancing behind him at the beautiful being, Kirin noted the frown, the dissatisfaction, and felt his chest constrict in regret. Perhaps this was a kindred spirit, he considered. Isolated and alone. Lonely. Relishing the contact with a warm body regardless of who, needing the contact to feel alive. To feel anything other than self loathing. In that moment, Angeles’ expression was almost unspeakably sad, and gave the impression of greater depth than simply being told no. Kirin had to look away quickly, lest he fall into the enigma of his companion before he could actually become a sanitary immortal once again. Taking the tool he had just been exposed to, he spent the remainder of the time scrubbing himself silly with a handful of sand. It was silt like, fine grained and perfectly white, no trace of dirt or contaminant despite where it was found. It reminded him of bath salts.

　　The remainder of the bath was uneventful. 


	7. Indulgence

　　Angeles did not speak, and the few times Kirin dared to glance at him, thereafter, his gaze was even more devastating than before. There was an almost dangerous quality to it, like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for the moment of weakness to strike. He did not, however, again attempt to intervene. Yet, that sort of unnerving intensity had more than once caused the younger prisoner to shift uncomfortably, to contemplate making a run for the shaft out of the chamber. But he persisted in peace, and when the last of his skin was raw red, and he felt he may have removed a whole layer of it, leaving himself refreshed, he stepped out of the water hesitantly, combing a hand through his hair - which he could do little more than rinse. Luckily, he had kept it short before, and it had only grown out to his shoulders. It could be worse.

　　“Here,” Angeles spoke again, and tossed Kirin a piece of white fabric. His voice was jolting, even though the sound was curt, and he was surprised that his reflexes proved sharp, managing to catch it without trouble. That was a relief. Some things take longer to rust than others, he supposed. Immortal reflexes were like instinct. Upon closer inspection, he realized the material was a shirt. Not his. When had Angeles moved to retrieve this? It was large, and of a less worn fabric. His pride told him to refuse it. The disgusting state of his pants convinced him otherwise. It was long enough to be a tunic on him, though he imagined he would still need to wash his trousers.

　　“Now then.” That towering figure was upon him once again. He hadn’t heard it, nor seen it, but as he finished the last button of the shirt that quite swallowed his narrow form, he looked up to find the man once again uncomfortably close to him, dangerously so, and was reminded of his delicious fragrance, the taste of his mouth, the warmth that seeped into Kirin’s form as his heart picked up an erratic pace once more. It would seem he could be put off for only so long. A flush no doubt colored his cheeks, but he was proud to say his expression was otherwise unchanged. Perhaps he was growing more accustomed to the surprises he was given by the other. “I consented to your desire. You may thank me by sharing your blood. You have had time to recover since last time, and...” He leaned down, too far, his breath hot as he spoke once more, just over Kirin’s neck, inhaling deeply before he continued, “You are smelling very tempting just now.” An involuntary shiver assaulted Kirin’s form.

　　“What? I would never agree to such a thing.” It was a reflex, a conditioned response, one he had memorized, as it was their custom. And he recalled the burning, the pain, and felt the words were true. He would be devoured by this man if he agreed to it. He took a step back. His violet eyes searched the expression of his companion, but saw no shift, witnessed not even a faint flicker of impatience or annoyance. But then, surprisingly, he felt a part of him wish to adhere to the request, to surrender and be consumed. He quite despised that part of himself, and his features contorted into disgust. Angeles did not change his own expression.

　　“I cannot leave this place until I have recovered my strength. I cannot do that without fresh blood. Yours is particularly satisfying. Besides, are you not curious about how it may feel when you are conscious? It is not always painful.” 

　　This was a very dangerous man. He was without shame or the constraints of etiquette, he spoke what he wanted on impulse, it seemed, and Kirin was filled with that irrational terror once more. He was asking, which alone was very curious. Kirin had felt his strength, knew he could move without making a sound, likely faster than his eyes - which were much more attuned to fast movement than the average mammal - could ever make out. He did not need to ask, which was what made the fact he was so intriguing. Why didn’t he just take it? It was easier, less troublesome. Kirin rarely asked before he fed on a mortal, did not care whether they wished for it or not. They were his dinner. They did not ask a rabbit if it wanted to be eaten, so why should he do the same? The comparison, the recollection of his self bold and powerful and the juxtaposition to what he was now, the realization that he was currently just a rabbit to this frightful thing that was beyond his comprehension - it was all terrifying.

　　Not for the first time, he wondered what, exactly, Angeles was. And he considered what it would feel like to be bitten by another immortal. When they fed on humans, directly from the source, an immortal could alter the sensation. It could be an experience which was sensual and pleasurable, which made the human beg for more, even to the point of endangering themselves. It could be a giddy experience which filled them with joy. Or something painful, wretched, which made them scream in agony. Kirin, himself, had never dabbled much with the emotions he elicited, and liked to make it very cut and dry - it was numbing, so that he could feed and move on with his life. Humans did not deserve any more attention that just that.

　　But it had been so shocking he had passed out once, already. Another tango with temptation would likely yield the same result. But then, there was a little voice inside of him, begging the question of ‘why not?’ Hesitation persisted.

　　“If I agree, will you tell me more of yourself?” Why had he asked that? He startled himself. He hadn’t been thinking about that - had he? Was he curious about this creature? Curious enough to subject himself to such a taboo, to be devoured to have his answer? His mind whirled with confusion and wonder, searching for the part of himself that had stepped forward to ask that. Finding it in that small part which wished to yield, to know, to explore. Had the imprisonment brought out such a disturbing part of himself?

　　Angeles grinned in amusement. Whether it was expected or not, Kirin could not tell, but the other man moved closer, pressing him back against the wall next to the spring, since the smaller male naturally retreated. He leaned forward, and his thick, pheromone infused scent flooded Kirin’s senses.Anticipation gripped his chest, and he felt an excitement stir in his loins. What was wrong with him? He felt a new found revulsion for himself. This self loathing was exhausting.

　　“Very well,” was the only warning Kirin had before the fangs pierced into his flesh. Targeting his jugular, finding it at the curve of his neck, above his collar bone, he felt a sudden overwhelming heat flood his form. His legs weakened, buckling under his weight, and when he thought he should be falling, he was surprised to feel strength engulf his form, firm limbs encircling his body and holding him aloft, pressing his torso against the toned chest of his companion. Lips curled around the puncture site, and a hot tongue lapped against the stimulated flesh, rousing within Kirin sounds that were dreadfully lewd and definitely foreign to his throat. 

　　It was electric; a sensation which assaulted all of him at once, tingling his body in a quickly spreading radiation from his neck, down his arms, to the tips of his fingers, across his chest, stiffening his nipples, arousing him in a manner which was as elating as it was horrifying. He was feeling lightheaded before long, and his arms reached out to grasp onto Angeles, his fingers curling into the man’s red mane, tangling within their length as he clutched onto him. He was on fire, burning with a sudden, sharp need, a desire which filled him, bringing forth the most disconcerting thoughts - how soft the crimson locks managed to be, the firm musculature that his fingers brushed against, the broad expanse of chest pressed against his own, his legs parting, curling around his companion, his body grinding against him.

　　He needed more. Something within him felt that he could grind himself into dust before he was satisfied, and his heart rushed within his chest, pulsing his blood swiftly through his system, giving it willingly to the man who would consume him. The thought of being devoured was never so sweet as now, Kirin’s slight body arching into the firm hold of his companion, writhing with a wanton urgency. His voice cried out for sweet release, a gasping and embarrassing sound that he simply couldn’t restrain. He felt the tension build within him, felt his body grow rigid with demand, felt jolts of pleasure every time he rubbed into Angeles’ unmoving self, and he grew more desperate for release.

　　And then, with such a sudden shift it was verging on madness, Angeles withdrew his fangs. The desolation and dejection that followed was like being dropped into the freezing water, so frustrating that Kirin released a sharp complaint, a conflicted cry that demanded explanation. It was a crash, a removal of such a passionate sensation so drastic that it left him panting and shuddering with unmet expectations. A warm tongue lapped against his neck, encouraging the coagulation of blood and the quick healing of his skin, but it was a meager balm over the sudden emptiness he felt. He wasn’t in any position to flee, and some part of him which remained self-aware understood he wouldn’t have the strength, if he tried, and the thought was fleeting - he would not allow himself to be toyed with so brazenly.


	8. Tasting the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little early on the release. Hope this is good!

His body had been driven to the brink, and he needed release - even if that meant delving into the depths of murky, unknown waters with this enigmatic, puzzling man. Though he loosened his hold as Angeles straightened, those golden eyes alive with fresh vitality, with a fierceness renewed as they looked down upon the smaller man, his tongue flicking out over his lips in a deliciously seductive manner, catching a stray drip of blood from staining his features. Kirin resolved to have satisfaction, pulling himself up, pressing his lips against the other’s, sudden and demanding, seeking to fill that emptiness, the lack of warmth and tingling that his body screamed for. He thought that he may have briefly seen surprise play upon the immortal’s carefully crafted visage, but he was not looking for long, quickly becoming lost in the press, the subtle pain of the kiss that stole all attention, the drove away any embarrassment he may have felt at displaying such shameless assertion.

Whenever a proposition is made, there is always the risk of rejection. In Kirin’s life, he had faced it only once, and then it had meant very little to him. However, he felt that if he was pushed away just now, rejected after being used so perfectly, he might crumble. That after the imprisonment, the indignation, the vulgarity and startlement, the mystery and perversion, that would be the last straw. He had become so desperate in the feeling of longing and need. Why? It must have been the sharing of blood. Is this how humans felt, and why so many became addicted to the act? Why so many became besotted with their master, why they confused love and lust and desire with the simple carnal act of feeding? What a scary thought.

He was not rejected. Angeles opened his mouth to the kiss readily, and Kirin could taste his own blood, acrid but sweet, mingling with the saliva of the other man. It was even sweeter than before, and his body reacted quickly, growing warm from the sensation of another person’s affection, from the intimacy and pleasure such an act naturally brings. Angeles’ arms shifted, one gripping tightly to the slight abdomen that Kirin possessed while the other lowered itself, trailing over the white shirt that he, himself, bestowed upon the younger male, finding the curve of his rump and clenching onto the mound of flesh there. 

Kirin shuddered, gasping into his partner’s mouth, pressing his body closer with an urgency he didn’t understand, but felt the need to explore. Their tongues blended together once more - so soft, so hot. Twisting and twining, filling up his mouth with a decadent flavor. It was thrilling and alien all at once. His cursory senses told him that they had shifted, lowered, his legs parting more completely to ensnare the waist of his companion, but he was beyond caring. 

Steamy, moist, passionate. He groaned into Angeles’ mouth, impatient and entreating all at once. The feeling of detachment yielded fluidly into the lust he was suddenly enjoying, and he felt his mouth becoming ravenous, the craving of a very base, carnal being taking control. The throbbing in his groin begged for more, and he acquiesced by grinding his hips against the fellow man’s. Part of him, some quiet and still rational part, knew this was wrong. Felt he should stop. Did not understand what this would mean, if it would be anything, but was cautioned away from this person he could not fathom. It felt ludicrous to that small, logical self to indulge so readily, but then he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. He had never felt so elated, so stimulated, had never been witness to the new and strange sensations his body was experiencing.

It was about then that he remembered he wasn’t wearing pants - or rather that he was quite pointedly reminded, as Angeles reacted to the grinding of his hips by slipping a hand up his thigh. The intimate contact was shocking, sending thrilling sensations up the muscle, causing that lump between his legs to twitch eagerly. He gasped sharply, a moan roused in his throat that forced its way out, and both sounds were devoured by Angeles’ unyielding kiss. His own lips would be sore after this, bruised and battered as they were, already feeling extra sensitive, but he did not care. The desperate need for breath compelled him to pull back, his eyes opening, their deep, fathomless purple depths blurry with passion. The face of a demon met him - beautiful, deadly, the temptation of every pleasure in the world at the cost of every sin. Something within him knew this instinctively, but he still wanted to fall into the devil’s hold. It felt sweet. And, for a fleeting moment, he fancied what it would be like to stay in these arms forever. The thought brought a sudden skip to his heart and a burning flush to his cheeks. 

There must have been something amusing in his gaze, for Angeles chuckled slightly, his voice a tender caress against Kirin’s very being - though for a paranoid moment, he wondered if the strange immortal could read his thoughts, was laughing at his ridiculous fancy. “You are actually quite a lovely creature, aren’t you? I must insist you wash here more often. Though I wish you’d let me do it next time in earnest...” Before Kirin could protest, for his nature was simply stubborn in that way, Angeles’ hand had moved to a particularly sensitive area - trailing an electric sensation up his thigh, slipping onto the inner, more tender skin, and curling around the hard shaft guarded there. 

A whimper escaped his lips, the sound pleading, full of the desperate longing that motivated his actions, and he felt the fever rise within him as piercing pleasure assaulted his senses. More, his body urged, “More.” The sound escaped without his intention of doing so, but it was such a soft, delicate sound, the reaction he elicited was quite immediate. Those fingers, lightly trailing claws over the flesh, shifted from playful tease, tempting the twitching member alluringly, to grasping it firmly, and rubbing upon it masterfully. Angeles panted heavily against his lips, the kiss having been broken by his own statement, and only then did Kirin realize how far the other man had also been pushed. 

The man’s scent was positively intoxicating. It was the sweetest alcohol he had ever known, the most enticing aroma, the strongest brew. Close contact was enough to make his mind hazy, and that small, desperately logical part of him sent off an alarm, to be afraid once again. To hesitate. If he fell into the depths of hell, there would be no way to climb out, it said. This was not part of what was asked, but it was being given without complaint. He should be wary. He should run away. But just right now, he wanted to damn that protesting part of himself to the underworld and back - whatever price needed to be paid was a consequence he would face another day. 

The fire in his body was too much - it burned deep, in his very veins, sending ecstatic tendrils of pleasure to every possible nerve. He knew it was soon, that he could not hold out much longer - he was honesty amazed he had managed this long, considering the last time he had pleasured himself. His hands were clumsy in their half-drunken scramble down Angeles’ back, shifting around in a fervent attempt to unfasten the other man’s trousers. The intimate, steady rasp of breath from his partner was such a startling sensation, it filled him with a need he didn’t think himself possible - for equal satisfaction. This stranger, this bygone locked in a grave, this thing that was perhaps neither alive nor dead - he did not know or understand, but in this moment, he wanted them to feel alive together. To find that sweet release.

But Angeles did not stop his own actions, devilish man that he was, moving his lips to explore new regions. Kirin’s neck was subjected to more wet kisses, sweet suckling, while those digits around his manhood continued to stroke, stroke, stroke out the sweet juices that escaped before ejaculation. It was maddening, the frustration he felt as his body boiled, the urgency quelling beneath his own satisfaction as Angeles lowered his attention further, ignoring the smaller man’s work with his pants to push him out and flick his tongue seductively over a nipple. The small nub had already stiffened due to such a state of full body stimuli, but the sensitive region was enough to push the black haired immortal over the edge - he cried out sharply, the sweet pleasure of his form peaking, the release of tension so gratifying that he could not help the excess that poured out into Angeles’ palm, marring his chest. He shuddered blissfully, but felt a sharp pang of regret in his chest, like something important was just missed to savor.

“Are you quite sure you are the same scared creature that ran away before?” Though it was teasing, the sound was such a deliciously aroused purr that any barb it contained was softened to a sweet kiss, churning Kirin’s insides more than any touch he had before known with the simplest of sounds. 

The embarrassment was severe when it struck, sudden and startling, but Kirin was not the kind to bow before it. Though the redness surely dominated his expression, the dim blue light may have helped hide it, and he managed to summon his voice. “S-sorry, I-I....” Voice, maybe, but he didn’t have any words for this situation. Angeles’ hand pulled away, and for a split second, he was sure that he would be pushed off his lap in disgust - a product of deep rooted paranoia. It was only then that he was acutely aware that he was, indeed, sitting in the others lap, his legs curled around him, the encounter far more intimate than their acquaintanceship should have allowed. He had known this was the situation, had planned to use it, but that small, rational part of him seemed to be gaining ground amidst the lull of pleasure sated senses, making him feel exposed in a new, terrifying way.

Angeles brought his own fingers up, such long and elegant digits they were, perfect for playing the piano, though currently sticky with thick white liquid. Without hesitation, he parted his lips - such sensual things, full of mischief - and gleefully licked the fingers. Not clean, Kirin noted in his slack minded state, bewildered and without words even worse than before, but simply adding saliva to the mix as he savored yet another flavor of the young man. “Yes, very delicious,” he said in a sultry tone, though Kirin was quite sure that was in no way possible. His blood, perhaps - but that was the limit of his savory body parts. Wasn’t it?

While floating on the euphoric high, temporarily awe-struck and absently forgetting what, exactly, he was doing, those fingers - devilish things! - moved once more without his notice, curling against his rear, slipping between the soft mounds of his cheeks, and pressing against the entrance there. Panic possessed him, pure and sharp - jarring him out of the satisfied lull, rousing his voice as he said, “W-wait, stop, don’t! I-I, no, not that.” He had only a vague awareness of intercourse between men, and while it was not necessarily uncommon between immortals, it was certainly not a path he had indulged in before. 

A fine crimson brow rose over those golden eyes, the expression clearly piqued, Angeles’ voice amused as he spoke, “Ah, there you are. Timid again, hm? You certainly aren’t planning to run away and leave me in this state?” How he was so calm and even mirthful was frustrating to the smaller immortal, and the words elicited a flushed response, shame and embarrassment intermingling with his wounded pride. Yet, he was unmoved, in this. That rational part of him claimed the reigns once, and was screaming such was definitely impossible. He shook his head once, then shifted himself attempting to leave the lap. That attempt was blocked, Angeles wearing an even more amused expression this time, though he did not force the situation further.

Kirin took a deep breath, his mind recalling that sense of urgency, the desire, and moved his hands down to resume unfastening Angeles’ trousers. It was hardly easier now, his hands seemed to tremble just as once, but his focus was more acute. He was distinctly aware of the golden eyes upon him, setting his nerves on high alert, but there was still a part of him that wondered perversely what this creature was like, pressed to the same level of pleasure. Could he even manage such? He wasn’t skilled in the act broadly speaking, an even less so in regards to another male, as his experience might lead one to understand. Angeles made no attempt to stop him, but leaned back to give him some greater ease in the act. His hands shifted, as well, moving to rest on Kirin’s thighs. He felt the wetness, the sticky substance still upon Angeles’ fingers as he rubbed in a too-sensual manner against his thighs. The warmth those fingers stirred was fresh, causing a tingling trail of startling sensation once again - his body was not fully relaxed, and he could feel his member tightening, threatening further excitement. He lamented his youthful exuberance, betraying him for the first time.

This was dangerous - he was resolved to end this soon, so that he could return to himself, so that he could learn more about this immortal in the grave. Ah, how unusual. He didn’t want to leave right away, he admitted. His fingers worked with greater finesse than he expected, considering his trembling, but before he knew it, he was pulling down the material to reveal a thick, hard member beneath. Somehow, in a world where this particular body member was almost universely unattractive, the slick skin exposed before him was as shockingly appealing as the man it belonged to; generously endowed, swollen with unsated need, it demanded attention. His face burned, and his hands quivered all the more, a sudden shyness holding him - but Angeles had managed this act so flawlessly. The level of expectation he felt was almost insurmountable, and comparing himself to this crimson god seemed laughable - yet no more ridiculous than the situation had long ago become. His heart pounded in his chest at a frightful speed, one which he was sure would have it leaping up his throat any moment, the act made more embarrassing by the fact he knew - knew - that Angeles must be acutely aware of it even at their distance. Immortals could always hear a heart fluttering, and if Kirin could listen past his own, he was sure he could find his companion’s. Despite his giddy mix of conflicting feelings, the urge to jump in and escape all at once, he couldn’t run away now - hadn’t he instigated this?

It was hot. So scalding he was sure the memory of it would be burned into his mind for an eternity. His fingers explored the length timidly at first, testing the sensitivity, curious of where it was most easily stimulated. It was so very alive, pulsing just beneath the surface, the tension constraining under his encouragement. His slender fingers traveled upwards, teasing the tip, gratified when a thick liquid began to spill out. A normal man after all, Kirin pondered with a mix of awe and lewd desire, simply far more powerful than average. The same desires, the same temptations. Kirin made the mistake, then, of being curious - curious of Angeles’ expression. His eyes dared to look up, to take a glance at the demon’s face as his hands worked up and down on his shaft. Those golden eyes were so dark and sensuous, staring so intently down at Kirin, meeting the purple depths of his companion. Watching. Waiting. Expectant. His lips parted faintly in a pant, the excitement and anticipation clear in that godlike face, too perfect to exist. It made Kirin shiver to his very core, and filled him with a familiar eagerness, a need to cause that expression to change even further, to make this man gasp in pleasure, to call his name as he spilled his seed in ecstasy.

His stomach clenched tightly in anticipation, and he could feel the foreign craving take control, leaving him all but powerless to merely marvel at the curious somersault of his emotions. To flee, to chase. To give, to take. Angeles noticed too, he must have, for a grin curled his lips upwards once more - such a change devastating to the heart. It transformed his visage from divine to sinful, bringing forth a darker complexity to those glamorous contours, a seduction so effortless it seemed innate. One of his hands lifted, claiming Kirin’s chin and forcing him to look up once more, to look only at Angeles, his voice a dark and demanding tone that managed to no less sound persuasive, “Take me in your mouth.” The mere suggestion! Kirin had never been spoken to in such a commandeering manner. But he couldn’t bring himself to be offended. He wanted to make Angeles pleased. It had become important for some reason, a delightful itch that must be scratch. He needed to witness that beautiful face contorting in pleasure. Would it if he sucked him dry? It was certainly worth trying.

When he shifted to move off the lap this time, he was not stopped. Though, he was also not retreating, merely adjusting himself to better suit the task at hand. Angeles spread his legs, allowing Kirin to kneel before him with uninhibited access to that virile part of his body that was just begging for release. His long frame leaned back further, his posture exuding that threatening authority that Kirin was sure he would have to consider further later; for the time being, his impulses would drive him first. He parted his lips, his tongue flicking out to tease and taste the tip. It was a strange flavor, one he felt intellectually should be disgusting. He did not find it so, under the circumstance. It was salty, and like silk beneath his tongue. The aroma that flooded his nostrils was nothing short of perversely thrilling, a stronger, masculine pheromone that differed, just slightly, from the ever engaging natural fragrance that clung to the larger man. His hands held the hilt, playing against the flesh in tempting and sensual ways, in a way he suspected would be pleasurable. 

This was an act he did not imagine he would ever do again, yet there was some drive to do it very well. But that was like a child’s naive wish to play an instrument excellent the first time it was picked up. Even for one with a basic understanding of the act, practical application was a different story. Therefore, it was no surprise that Kirin was clumsy, at best, when he took the thick member into his mouth. His teeth scraped against it, causing a chuckle and ‘Careful’ to be stirred from Angeles, and there was a moment where Kirin understood, for perhaps the first time, how dangerous this sort of thing was for a man. How very exposed and vulnerable it brought them. All the more, he wanted to stir a release, and so he worked, sucked, slurped in a most undignified manner, a manner he would absolutely deny ever having a part of later.

It was not a quick release. But it was a terribly satisfying one. Looking up at Angeles’ face was by far the best part, for each time, he witnessed something so deliciously intimate, so incredibly sexy, he felt an uncanny desire to possess it completely for himself. He could feel the tension rise, as his companion neared the crest of pleasure. He saw the shift in his face, the tension between his brow, the soft sounds he made when he breathed in, more harshly, more jagged. His own heart swelled with eagerness, throbbing painfully in his chest as he watched, his cool purple eyes reflecting his internal desires with perfect transparency.

He was suddenly aware that he should pull away, or else be drowned by the release. However, as that climax reached, Angeles reached out, entwining his fingers in the thick black locks of Kirin’s own, and held him fast, staring into those liquid golden orbs - a venue of communication that he understood on a level beyond logic, more like instinct. Kirin pushed down, gagging himself with the stiff shaft, too much - if he commonly ate solid food, this would really make him regret it. He felt it press into his throat, the swollen erection painful against the tight passage, causing it to constrict further in rebellion - and then he felt the release, hot and thick, jets of liquid flooding his insides. It filled him with a perplexing rush of euphoria, the burning substance choking the slender male all the further. He pulled back, but not before he was forced to swallow or die, consuming the better bulk of the release - though it was still too soon, the obscene substance marring his face, his features growing sticky with the fluid. 

Coughing harshly, he was once again taken by surprise at the swiftness of Angeles’ movement, his shifting, Kirin suddenly finding himself flush against the other’s chest, once more in his lap, those golden eyes glowing with an even fiercer intensity. “Such a rarity to discover, my delightful minx. I allow your restraint to join with me for now, but if you are so earnest with your efforts, I cannot promise for long.” Flattery, in general, was rarely perceived well by the former nobleman, but such words from this image of perfection had such a melting effect; it had the ability to make one feel as high as the sky, an intense pride and bashfulness blossoming within his depths. If he watched Angeles now, he felt he would be compelled to grant him any request, to pleasure him to any extent, or grant him any desire. Kirin tried to look away, but was caught off guard from a hot, forceful, deep kiss. The thick tongue that plunged into his moist recess was eager, arrogant, enticing his own to a delightful tango with the greatest of ease. It took him a moment for the logical part of his brain to remind him of a very important fact - his mouth was dirty! He tried to push away, the alarming thought shaking him to the core, but Angeles was persistent and, apparently, uncaring. It did not take long before Kirin was lost in the kiss again. 

Neither were sated yet. His groin had long ago returned to full stiffness from merely watching his partner reach climax. It was some time before the ragged breathing ceased, before the pair had indulged their appetites to the fullest, before the wetness of their forms was allowed to still and dry; the pair of prisoners, such perfect strangers, allowed themselves to explore one another curiosity until the day’s desire was well and truly spent.


	9. BONUS - Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the greatest in the world, but I doodled Kirin and Angeles. This is an initial concept of the pair. This is the first full length color I have done on my tablet, and the color looks a bit different than it did on there, so sorry for that!
> 
> I have some other pictures I am working on. When I am done, I will show them off as bonuses, like this one. Hope you enjoy! Or not. Whichever works.
> 
> P.S. Angeles is never as pretty as I want him to be. I must perfect my art to portray him better.  
> P.S.S. Kirin sometimes sounds like a girl when I write him, but I try to portray him manly. Usually. I am not great at that, though I think he looks masculine here.


	10. Observations

Having washed, again, Kirin found himself seated against one of the walls of the circular quarters, unconsciously admiring the shimmer of blue lights reflecting off of the red haired demon seated before him. Angeles was not unlike a king upon his throne, effortlessly commanding and regal even as he sat upon the edge of the stone sarcophagi that made his bed. An odd place to sleep, the observation passed absently. The younger immortal’s thoughts came clearer now, his body heavy with exhaustion. That alone seemed to compel him to a rational frame of mind, to deter him from retreat in a cowardly fashion, but analyze his partner with some measure of dispassionate curiosity. Or at least as close to that as he was able to manage. Part of him still begged him to feel shame, to be consumed with embarrassment and fear, but he was feeling himself closer and closer to accepting this as a new sort of normal. It was a scary thought, subjectively speaking.

Angeles looked relaxed, his golden eyes half lidded as he stared down at his companion, the look of a satisfied beast evident in the perfect lines of his visage. Kirin both resented and relished the sight. He spoke first, giving voice to the thoughts that whirled in his head, the ones which managed to surface in the ebbing tides of passion. “Are you going to explain about yourself, now?” His head tilted to the side, just slightly, his own damp locks dripping cold liquid upon porcelain flesh, shifting away to expose the two small beauty marks that decorated his cheek, just below his right eye. 

“You paid the toll, I suppose I should let you pass,” the male said ambiguously, his expression unchanged. Kirin was reminded, briefly, of a tale he once heard. Not about bridges and trolls, though that fleetingly passed, but about a man who always spoke in riddles. A princess had to guess his name... He wondered if this would be like playing against such a goblin, or if the words that passed between the pair could be taken in truth.

“Ask one question. I will answer it.”

A faint tsk sound escaped the young immortal’s lips, his tongue clicking against the back of his fanged teeth. “Stingy.”

“I am happy to replace the offer of a question with additional, less telling services.” The fine arch of his crimson brow was all that was required to explain his meaning. Kirin did not let it stir him, at least not visibly - he could feel his heart give a palpation, and he wondered if that was a healthy activity for it.

“Why are you down here?” It seemed a direct enough route, for the moment. He studied the casually slouched male; Angeles body was still toned, not the dilapidated, deteriorated physique one would expect to result from confinement and lack of exercise. His arms flexed with sinewy strength as he leaned against them, his large hands folded together at his for, his knees bracing the bulk of his pose. He didn’t resemble a predator quite so much, in this moment - at least not one ready to hunt. Perhaps a snake, bathing in the sun, content to soak up the warm rays rather than chase after the passing rodent.

“Someone thought I was dead - or wanted me to die. This must have been their solution to both.” Angeles’ voice was silken once more, and had an absolutely lovely drawl quality to it, as though he took his time with each syllable, caressing the verbiage like a precious sound. He did not alter his expression, even when confronted with the obvious displeasure that his words brought to Kirin. Vexing man.

The youth frowned pensively, glaring up at Angeles with clear accusation. “Could you be more vague?” he quipped sarcastically, though none the less absorbed the information. It was, unfortunately, nothing new. An idiot could surmise as much from simply looking around their location. It had taken him the whole of two seconds to guess this was a grave when he had first entered the chamber, and that answer could have been assumed from such an observation. Like a game of riddles, he decided he would need to be more direct.

However, the challenge was issued, and Angeles had no trouble stating in a plain tone, “I will try harder to be even less divulging next time.” His grin was sardonic, but there was something odd in his gaze this time. It was not interest, or passion, and it did not feel malicious. Yet it was all the more fathomless, puzzling to Kirin’s mind as he attempted to study the creature. This was a once in a lifetime event, the young man knew. It was a fluke, something that had come to pass which should not have. He wondered, not for the first time, how long this creature had been down here. If Kirin had never been imprisoned, how long would he have continued to linger? If someone else had stumbled down that shaft, would Angeles have acted just a sexually? He didn’t wish to admit that he already knew the answer to that, and wished to admit even less that the thought was souring to his mood. 

Masochistically, his mind wandered to further possibilities. If it had not been Kirin, who might it have been? Who would be a suitable match for this god upon the earth? He tried to bring to mind those he had met in his life who he felt were attractive. It was hard to remember them, since in recollection, every face he could conjure up was so below the standard set by Angeles it was disheartening. He was a butterfly among a world of grubs, a completely different class of beautiful. Shamefully, Kirin felt suddenly inadequate. He was by no means an unattractive specimen himself. He had often taken some perverse satisfaction in attracting the attention of others, of watching their gaze follow him, only for him to pay them no care whatsoever. But in the grand scheme, much of his appeal was likely the weight of his family, the promise that ties with such a name would bring. Angeles knew nothing about him, and wanted him simply for the sake of existing. There was something unbelievably alluring in that, in being desire so fully. But then, he knew that it was not without other purposes. Revulsion rose to the forefront of his thoughts as he considered that he must be no better than a mere human to this creature, a vessel on which to feed and find pleasure in. A pawn. The disjointment of both trains of thought left him feeling barren, but he was without the energy left to protest, complain, or even bring it up in conversation, to explore what the greater meaning of his personage might be. There was no point in wondering. Complete strangers did not hold emotions for one another, and his own were nothing beyond selfish and intrigue.

His gaze must have wandered off at some point, his mind growing absent in his contemplation. He registered some debris scattered throughout the chamber, though nothing beyond what one would expect of such a quarter. A shiver assaulted his frame, catching him by surprise. It forced his attention inward, and he noted that he felt oddly cold. That was unusual - he never felt cold, not unless he was in the snow. But the sensation on his skin was such a contrast to the contact of flesh, he shuddered again and drew his legs up to his chest, folding his arms around them. Shifting his feet to conceal anything his pantless state may expose, he knelt there in further silence as his brain worked.

Perhaps it was boredom that instigated it, or possibly irritation at being ignored, but just as he grew comfortable with his new position, Angeles was suddenly next to him. Seated casually, the larger immortal draped his arm over Kirin’s shoulder, drawing him easily into a side embrace, forcing the narrow frame to teeter carelessly at an angle, folding into the expanse of warmth beside him. Immediate relief seeped into his veins, a warmth blooming in his chest as his heart skipped dramatically - traitorous little floozy that it was - before the noble looked up at his suddenly close companion. For once, Angeles did not return the stare. His eyes were closed, his head leaning back against the wall, his legs spread out on the hard ground before him. Such a serene sight, Kirin couldn’t help but marvel at it. 

“Angeles?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage. His voice had a quiet, shy quality that he resented, so apart from the groomed gentleman he should have been without a qualm.

“Mm?” The sound was an acknowledgment more than an encouragement. His arm tightened slightly, as if to reject any possibility of Kirin moving away just now.

“Do you sleep with everyone you meet?”

The laugh that answered him was low, such a rich sound it made him quiver with subtle excitement, such a deep and resonating quality he felt a symphony of the finest could not compete. “I wonder. I look such the whore?”

The retort stung more than it should have. The larger male’s voice was not chastising, though it held a sort of cold amusement that did not bring forth the image of joy. It nevertheless felt like a slap to Kirin, a reminder that such an impudent question was rude in every shade of the meaning. Yet, he was left bitter further by the lack of answer. “Sorry,” he muttered begrudgingly, not from lack of sincerity so much as shameful dissatisfaction. 

They sat in silence for a long time. Isolation had made communication a novelty, and Kirin no longer felt any obligation to fill the void with useless chatter. He did not know the questions to ask which would render his response, and he did not care to climb an insurmountable wall. He allowed his mind to wander for a time, before it became content to lull in and out of focus, paying attention to the smallest of details. The sound of quietly trickling water as it made its way over the cool stone. The faint, comforting blue glow that persisted without hesitation, that shimmered playfully off of Angeles’ nails and the long length of his hair. The reassuring thump, thump, thump of the same man’s heartbeat just below his ear, his body still pressed into that side embrace as he was. Steady rise and fall, signs of life and vitality. It was all like a lullaby, and he wondered if it had worked upon his silent companion.

“Whatever may come to pass in the future, Kirin... You are a special existence to me. What exactly that means is something we shall have to discover together, if you are truly interested in exploring it.”

The sound was soft, a whisper, and contained an almost tragic quality to it. A dirty secret admitted. It was shocking, and woke his senses from their lull as efficiently as an electric shock. Dark purple depths looked upward, meeting the pools of gold that studied him, for who knows how long. A flush crept into his cheeks, but he could not manage a response. Part of him felt such a sadness well up inside, an acknowledgment that whatever could be with this man never would, and an acceptance that some part of him wished otherwise. But this creature was dangerous. He could feel the threat radiating off of him, a dark aura that was not malicious in nature, but held the distinct quality of a grade A predator. If Kirin opened himself in any way, he knew that it would end in disaster. 

The young man pulled away. Angeles’s hold protested, but did not persist beyond an initial complaint. “I am going to rest,” Kirin spoke apathetically, rising to unsteady feet. The cold that assaulted his body was immediate, and regret welled within his chest, but he smothered it down. He could feel those golden eyes following him as he withdrew, as he moved to the narrow shaft, until he climbed out of view. Angeles did not stop him, did not offer any argument to make him stay. He didn’t understand why that hurt him somehow.

Laying on his mat, he was flooded with the terrible sense of loneliness. The silence of his cell was suddenly deafening. The air like ice to his skin. There was something wrong with him, his head felt light. He needed to sleep. Sleep would bring a peace to his mind, and with that, he could face Angeles again with his weirdness eliminated.


	11. Falling Hard

A mix of excitement and trepidation muddled the young immortals mind as he stared down the shaft to the lower chamber of his cell. His sleep had been restless, besieged by shivers and haunting sensations. His meal was more bitter than normal, the distasteful liquid struggling to mix well with his immune system. And now, he had been staring down into the faint glow for some length of time now. No sounds carried up the corridor, and he did not once see a familiar red haired Adonis looking up to wonder if he was about to descend. That left him all the more anxious.

There was something still wrong with him. Strange thoughts had been assaulting his mind since the events of their last interaction, and he could not shake the aching of his pounding heart. It made no sense, now that stimuli was removed, but it throbbed all the more voraciously as he considered descending into the depths of hell once more. Perhaps today, he would learn something new and useful. Those golden eyes would be waiting for him, he knew, would watch him with a hot allure that made him wish to strip down to nothing. Not that he was currently wearing much but a tunic styled shirt. The sudden rush of memory, the heat of hands caressing him, of a tongue swirling against his own, the foreigner invading his mouth and captivating him so effortlessly.

He swallowed hard against the swell of desire that such a thought roused in him, willing himself into his practiced apathy, and then made his way down. No matter what he wanted to pretend, he had absolutely nothing else to do with his life. He may feign an option, but there was never much of a question. The climb down seemed at once arduously long, and terrifyingly short. His chest tightened with anticipation, and when he reached the bottom, he hesitated. Was he ready to meet those golden eyes? Part of him screamed for retreat, which he very rudely denied out of sheer will and a rejection of cowardice, and the rest of him bubbled with excitement. He spun around.

No one was there.

The expectation that Angeles may be down there waiting was, perhaps, naive. It took great self control to keep the disappointment from crushing his spirit. Keeping his expression placid, he moved from the small hollow of the entrance into the breadth of the main chamber, his violet gaze searching around for the familiar figure, seeking the statuesque perfection beneath the azure glow. He did not find the object of his attention. Irritation bristled within him, some sense of pride wounded by this completely imagined slight, and he moved with a more haughty purpose.

Once he stepped around the marker of the center, that stony place of resting, his eyes alighted with ease upon the treasure he sought. Submerged within the pool to his waist, his legs lounging comfortably half folded in front of him, the crests of his knees rising out of the crystal clear water like wondrous new mountains birthed from a strange sea. Broad shoulders leaned back against the edge of stone, crimson hair spilling all around him in a bloody shroud. Head tilted back, his serene expression was breathtaking, and the irritation that muddled Kirin’s insides quickly morphed into attraction, the emotion just as burning against his demeanor.

Angeles could have been sleeping, by all appearances. His chest moved ever so slowly, every inhale leisurely taken, and he remained perfectly still even as the young man approached him. Kirin did not move with as much practiced silence as some of his kind. He had no reason to train in arts of combat or hunting. He had never been inclined to the sport, his interests always more internal, in music or philosophy. So he knew very well that his arrival could not have been missed, the soft steps of his bare feet resounding in the small cavern. Perhaps the prisoner here wished solitude, and that was what compelled him to feign sleep. Or was he truly resting in such chilling waters? The reminder of his own bath flashed through his mind - before and after - and the slight youth squatted down next to the water’s edge.

Though he was careful not to step on his companion, or muss with his hair, he was not so resolute about staying away completely. Fascination prompted him to lean forward, curiosity demanding that he take this rare opportunity to fully assess the man before him. Long scarlet lashes concealed beneath them what he knew too well to be startling eyes. The lovely olive tinge to his skin boasted a perfect complexion, and though he did appear somewhat pallid, Kirin could not help but note he did not seem so deathly white as the naturally pale creature that he was himself. His jawline was perfectly chiseled, with a delicious curve and masculine edge, sculpting his face against a long, thick neck. Before his eyes traveled down too dangerously, and his mind latched onto more ravenous contemplations, he lifted them up to study the lax, natural formation of his lips.

So often twisted into a mischievous smirk, or pulled in a sardonic appeal, they looked truly angelic in this sedate manner. They had a naturally robust shape and color, not so dark as a woman’s painted vanity, but enough to inspire the mind to consider more sensual uses than mere words alone. Unbid, his own mind began to whirl with curiosities he did not know himself able to fathom. Those lips exploring his body as though he were some delight to be cherish. The tongue within indulging generously of every knew flavor, lapping up the sanguine liquid that spills from a sliced abdomen. The way that mouth shifts when speaking his name... But also something terribly more frightening. A sincere smile, a laugh, the promise of a good night kiss and morning greeting.

Before he could will himself away, to escape the trail of his own design, he had already pressed his lips down in a kiss. It was not as hot or as passionate as those he had received, but a more tender connection. Warming and sweet, it coaxed a response from his partner with inviting ease, Angeles parting his lips, his tongue brushing against Kirin’s teeth as it welcomed itself into his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, it savored what he offered, and the young immortal gently begged for more. The gradual bloom of warmth in his chest, the giddy skipping of his heart, the tension that built from such sweet nothing affection was all a different kind of torment.

There was a sudden euphoria, a sense of exhilaration that surged into his system like some fresh high, twisting that sweet feeling into something darker and carnal. How unusual, he thought as he found his lips parting further, his tongue plunging into the moist, succulent depths of Angeles’ mouth, bolder and brash. He wanted to run from this feeling, some small part of him, that cautious self that knew the right thing even in the heat of the moment, but he willingly submitted to the urge, curious to explore its root.

There was a loud splash.

A sharp temperature change caused him to suddenly cry out, shock and outrage mixing together as a firm hold ensnared him, dragging his narrow form into the icy spring. Parting from the kiss, he stared wide-eyed at the culprit, finding those deep, liquid gold orbs just inches from his own. To describe them as mesmerizing was insufficient - they were hypnotic and ravishing, wise and wild. An unwary soul could be lost in them for ages, and never comprehend their depths - he felt this may be his future, the mere image of them stilling his heart and quenching the rage that such a change in his bodily state had arouse. Passively, he wondered if this stranger was testing him, feigning sleep to assess what he would do. Not for the first time, he wished he could understand the mind of such a foreign creature as this, and felt his arms lifting up from the water they had flailed into, curling soaked around this creatures neck.

_Don’t do that,_  a small voice warned. _Don’t fall into that abyss._

The warning startled him, but not enough that the emotion played upon his features. Despite what may be believed in this prison away from the world, he was not normally an expressive and irrational man. The upset of reality may have tarnished that, but perhaps through exposure he could return to what he once was. Shifting his body into a more natural position, less the side-long, inelegant posture of an individual dragged forcibly into the water, and something more deliberately sensual, turning to face his companion and climbing into his lap, Kirin allowed himself to lean dangerously close to the devil’s face and whisper faintly, “Were you seducing me?”

The faint glow of those flaxen orbs seemed to darken somehow, though the curl of his lips indicated good humor. When he spoke in reply, Kirin could feel the heat of his breath, could smell a sour sweetness intermixing with the usual overwhelming pheromone of the man, and it brought a tightness to his chest that made each breath a little more difficult. “Was it not the other way around?”

“Are you so susceptible to an amateur?” The jest came unbidden, but the jovial nature of the exchange shifted the tightness to a flutter.

The water swished lightly as Angeles leaned forward, closing the few inches until there was only a hair’s breadth between them, and answered in such a low, sultry way that even the chill of the cold could not prevent the blood that immediately rushed into his groin. “I am so susceptible to you, Kirin.”

Passion erupted too quickly between the two for the young man’s mind to appropriately process the implications. All that mattered in that moment was the hot flavor of his partner’s lips, the tongue that seemed to know the secret path to heaven, the hard body that pressed eagerly into his own, squishing the liquid away and leaving his drenched shirt to cloy against both men’s torsos. A familiar fire was quickly consuming his senses, destroying any reason in its trace, and an insatiable desire for more demanded that he press further, deeper, harder.

The result compelled him to break away from the fiery kisses to shed the cumbersome material that concealed his form, easily creating a disheveled lump of unnecessary fabric carelessly flung from the spring. His pallid flesh ached, crying out for the pleasure of another’s touch, remembering a sensation he had only just learned to be so sweet. This was how immortals became addicted to pleasure, he realized absently, but again did not care to dwell on the philosophy. His hands, no longer the unkept mess they were just a short while ago, but still hardly those he was accustomed too, reached from behind the neck of his larger partner, fingers trailing over the flesh, encircling the neck, moving upwards to cup Angeles’ face.

It felt surreal, to touch something that was so unworldly, so unattainable in sheer essence. It threatened to stir up insecurities, but the high that Kirin was riding would not tolerate that - instead, his whole being soaked up the delighted thrill of it, his fingers stroking the flesh as if to examine it for reality. A fine crimson brow arched over a honeyed eye, but he allowed the fascination to progress... Almost unhindered. Losing no momentum in the throes of lust, Angeles’ own large hands set to work skimming down over Kirin’s narrow back, caressing the line of his spine in a purposeful descent that led his palms to press generously into full cheeks.

A sound of surprise, near complaint, escaped moistened lips at the sudden grope, but his body quickly reacted, accepting the progression of manhandling and raising the ante as he rocked his hips with deliberate sensuality into the others. Such a slow grind would no doubt arouse stimulation, and his own was immediate, calling forth another lewd sound, an exasperated moan, as he held fast to Angeles’ face and drew him into another deep kiss.

Things were becoming muddled again. The pounding of his heart in his chest was deafening, and he was compelled by the basest of urges, spurred on by the carnal endeavor for satisfaction and fulfillment. When those large, clawed hands found their way around his waist and against his already stiffened member, he groaned into the mouth of the incubus and reacted in kind. The subtle nagging in his mind was smothered as he was hefted out of the water, the release of such a cold embrace assaulting his body as fiercely as a fist, causing him to shudder violently.

As easily as one might a doll, Kirin’s svelte form was manipulated, firm arms curling up and around him, pushing him off of the crimson haired creature and down against the cool, solid rocky floor. His violet gaze watched in rapture as his statuesque companion propped himself over him, sculpted muscles accentuated by the darkness and faint azure glow as he hovered atop Kirin. His outline was a fanciful thing, his features darkly contoured, his eyes alone distinctly visible as his hair fell down, all around them, like a wet shroud. Every cold droplet that his body shed found its descending drip onto the slight male beneath, exciting his frame in a bizarre, savage way.

Angeles drew himself further from the water, crawling onto his knees and sitting up, his impressive frame towering over his reclined companion, lifting the veil of crimson as his hands moved to part Kirin’s thighs, revealing that shameless part of him which throbbed with unmet expectations. He should have been shocked, he supposed - embarrassed or shy. But in such a moment, there was such a heat pulsing through his veins, a swell of desire churning his stomach in a whirl of butterflies, a pounding in his chest that spoke of urgency - he accepted his state with anticipation, his gaze begging for more as he stared up at his counterpart.

A firm hold came upon either side of his hips, and then a sudden tugs lifted his pelvis up as Angeles leaned forward once more, a sudden rush of pleasure radiating across his flesh as the thicker, larger shaft that belonged to that crimson devil ground against his own, just as expectantly. A lewd, wet rocking ensued, grinding the members together in a shameless fashion, while one of the hands which gripped Kirin’s hips trailed down, groping his rear along the way and finding that entrance concealed between the two halves. A sudden shot of unease roused his senses, though just barely, as that merciless touch suddenly slipped into the tight entrance, the penetration barely evident and yet still causing such a strange sensation, an almost painful excitement that the raven haired immortal cried out.

Shaking his head, he begged through panted breath, “Don’t.”

A near growl answered him, impatience thick in the tone, “Still?”

“S-still.” His stomach tightened with anxiety, his heart clenching. The dissatisfaction in Angeles’ expression was practically shattering, and in that moment, he was sure he would be tossed aside.

And for the briefest of moments, that fear was reality. Practically dropped, the recoil of the stranger’s touch was chilling, Kirin’s form suddenly once more flush against the stone, but then those hands were grasping at his thighs, each of them nearly large enough to encase one. Without a care for any protesting, the slighter man was twisted around onto his stomach, pulled up onto his knees, then Angeles’ hand trailed up his chest, his hold flush against him, his fingers coming to coil around his neck, holding the younger creature in place as his voice whispered faintly into his ear, “Hold your legs closed.”

There was something dangerous in that tone, like a savage beast barely restraining the urge to kill, and Kirin found this just as perplexing as the request as he was pushed down onto his hands and knees, a hot hand pressing into his back. His brain had no energy to wonder, or time, but the full meaning of it was quick to be revealed. A hard, slick thrust from his companion forced that hard length just under his derriere, the burning member pushing his sack out of its way as it ground against him, through him. Surprise roused a faint protesting gasp from the youth, but his companion was beyond reasoning and began a steady rhythm of intercrural intercourse.

It felt strange, and his sensitive inner thighs were quickly turned into a fiery wasteland as they were repeatedly defiled, each time causing his own need to escalate higher and higher. It was difficult not to brace himself, to part his thighs, to yield to the urgency of his partner and consent to allow himself to be devoured. But that would be the end of him, he knew, and he was not yet prepared to accept defeat.

Blind to his partner in this way, he became more acutely attuned to the sounds that the gorgeous immortal made. Faint grunts, more guttural than he would expect of such a naturally sensual being, as well as heady pants, all seeming to be restrained, held back. He felt the heat, more than witnessed, when Angeles leaned down, reaching around to grasp Kirin’s teased member, rubbing against it in a manner which surprised him, though he could not yet understand why. His mind was gone, and all that was left in this moment was a beast of passion.

However long the rut lasted, he did not know, but he felt the tension rise within himself as a mirror of Angeles. When the peak neared, the other stiffened, his thrusts became quicker, rougher, searing his body with his heat in a way that he knew he could never forget. His breath betrayed soft pants laced with pleasure, and the hand that worked against Kirin’s own became mercilessly demanding. The pounding of two hearts created an urgent beat to work to, and when release was finally had, it was a glorious moment full of pure ecstasy. Kirin’s stomach summersalted, his heart practically bursting as the summit was pushed over, his body pulsating with tendrils of pleasure, his seed spilling in shuddering shots onto the floor.

Angeles’ he felt hit hits stomach, stick to his thighs, the sensation causing a fire to spread wherever the sticky substance landed, and as the waves of lust and need receded, he felt himself shuddering with lingering stimulation. The crimson haired immortal laid out next to him in the aftermath, his own lust spent, his breath finding a steadier rhythm. By some compulsion for continued contact, something that was impulsive rather than calculated, Kirin moved over, his sluggish body loath to face the act of independant movement as it still fought off the warming pleasure that had beseiged him. But move he willed it, and so it did, the shorter male pulling himself to rest his head against Angeles’ chest. His companion did not aid the act, but also did not pull away, and as Kirin settled into a rather intimate position, resting in the aftermath of pleasure with his partner, Angeles lifted his arm to half embrace the other, his eyes closing against the faint blue illumination of the chamber.

Kirin’s ear pressed against the rippled musculature of his stranger, and he listened with some unspoken curiosity. He could hear the strong, steady beat of the heart within. Already, it was finding a more regular pattern, settling from the excitement of bodily exchange. That thought struck him as odd, and he focused inward, upon his own little organ that was still rapidly pounding, the excitement not yet satisfied within it. Ah, he thought, recoiling into the secret reaches of his mind. Angeles was not the same, after all. This was not something that had ever been different. It was then that a realization was forced into acceptance.

This had no future. Though right now, the Adonis in the chamber might be his own, that was through sheer happenstance. His desire stretched no farther than the need of his lust and hunger. And when this imprisonment was over, so too would their intimacy. He couldn’t allow himself to be devoured, because he could already feel what he had not wanted to accept. His body understood it truer than his mind. Part of him begged to stay, to enjoy the moment while he had it, to cherish what he could and allow worries to wait. And he did, for a moment or more.

A memory floated through his mind, a familiar sensation bringing it to view. When he was very young, still a child in immortal eyes, he had found an abandoned puppy. It had a hurt leg, and so he carried it home. His parents did not care for the beast, but consented to his regrets on the condition he kept it out of the way. And so he did. Keeping it in his room, he nursed it back to health, fed it, kept it clean, taught it where to do its business. As it was healed, he became so very proud of it and so attached. He realized it was the only thing in the world that would ever truly be his.

But one day, it got out. While he was at school, it escaped and found his sister’s room. She was several years younger, and sweet, and by the time he got home, she and the dog had become fast friends. Jealousy and the fact he was supposed to keep it out of the way compelled him to taking the dog from her and locking him back in his room. But the situation had been changed. The dog cried now, it scratched at the door. It whined at him to let it out, and when his pride had been sufficiently crushed, he did. It ran straight to her room, and curled up with her in a manner he had believed exclusive for himself.

That was when he realized, only he was thinking the matter was special. The dog never did believe he was the most important one, just that he was the only one. Becoming greedy with his emotions had only opened himself up to pain.

He couldn’t allow it, then. The pain in his chest, the excitement that only he got lost in. That had to go away. He was not so foolish as to think he could deny any interaction, and he had no desire to lose this pleasurable exchange, but he decided he didn’t want to know more about Angeles, not truly. If he understood him, if he became too interested, if he allowed himself to be delusional enough to think the intimacy mattered, he knew that he would be devastated again, and he was afraid of himself. Afraid of how it would feel to watch Angeles with someone else, someone he felt was better. To understand his place in the society hierarchy so poignantly.

He lifted himself up. The hand which had become a familiar weight on his back did not protest, but fell away easily. Having spoken almost nothing to one another, he found his wet clothes, splashed his sullied body clean, and moved to leave. When he glanced back, for he could not control the urge, he found Angeles sitting up and watching him with the same glowing stare he always possessed, no emotion identifiable upon his visage. Neither said anything as Kirin turned back, and climbed the ladder back to his personal cell.

It was so cold. But then, he urged himself to be like it. And as he laid down for his rest, he felt himself growing numb. It was a preferable state than any other.


	12. SPECIAL - Happy Thanksgiving!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this quick little comic that has absolutely nothing to do with the story, aside from being some incarnation of Angeles and Kirin! If it makes someone chuckle, my goal will be accomplished!


	13. The Danger in the Beast

Somehow, a routine formed over the course of time. Though how long was, as always, difficult to determine, a sense of familiarity began to form between the pair. Time allowed Kirin the needed solitude to master his emotions, which he felt were much controlled after he slept and ate. Then, he would climb down to sit with Angeles. Neither were inclined to talking; any questions Kirin asked were answered as vaguely as possible, and Angeles simply did not ask anything. Except to share in the younger male’s blood. This became a regular occurrence, every few feedings. And then lust would be explored. It was a satisfying disruption to the monotony of isolation, but it left the ebony haired immortal with a sense of longing. It was not true intimacy, but the shallow husk of it, parading around in carnal desire. He smothered his emotions down. This was all he needed for now.

He was becoming better at sensing the demonic immortal that shared his prison. Or perhaps, Angeles’ presence was simply growing stronger. Every day, his eyes seemed to contain more ferocity. His touch became sharper, urgent and demanding. Insatiable. A part of Kirin still wanted to explore this creature, desperately to understand what he was, but he withdrew at every opportunity. It was not worth the pain, and though he accepted this as somewhat cowardly, it was not shameful enough to sway his resolve. Besides, he was reassured after every time that his companion was fairly apathetic on the matter.

This would be why the break from such a routine was quite jarring.

It happened just as Kirin moved to leave, after a typical duration of time spent sitting in near silence. Angeles would wrap his arm around the smaller man, hold him close, and then allow the time to lapse empty save the sharing of such simple warmth. It was always the same. But today, as the slight immortal approached the exit of the dome cavern, Angeles was there. Kirin had become used to the other moving without him realizing, even the phantom-like nature of his sudden shift from one side of the room to the other. But he was not accustomed with being blocked in such a manner. Interest swirled with fear in his chest, and he stopped short just before colliding with that stony expanse of flesh before him.

“I keep waiting. When will this stop?”

Kirin would have liked to say he was becoming accustomed to the sensual nature that was inherent in that voice, but he wasn’t. Every time he heard it, the sound grew more precious than the first, like a treasure he relished and needed more of. It caused a flutter in his chest, a tightening in his groin, a warmth to touch his cheeks. He tried to deny that. And yet, this time, it also left him puzzled.

“What?”

“This. It is a miserable existence, is it not? You are like a patron of the zoo - you come to watch the caged beast, but you are too timid to tame it. Am I so frightening to you that you will limit our exchange into the most base of nature?” The voice was not the sultry, alluring sound he was accustomed to, but sounded dangerously cold, and sharp. It was still pleasant, but had an icy chill that caused Kirin to shudder.

It was also so terribly frank, he was left dumbstruck. The palpitations in his heart left an ache in his chest, and he stepped back in a defensive manner while he allowed his mind to consider his reply. It could not be made hasty - he had learned that well enough. The words were undeniable. There was a deep rooted, instinctive fear that he harbored towards this man, and while their situation compelled him to draw towards the fire, to dare to play with its touch, he was unwilling to grasp it fully within his hands. He understood the consequences too much, and he tried to make himself cold against his own desires. But this demeanor was something new, a shade of the beast unfolding, a flame brighter than before.

Angeles’ eyes were striking. They bore down on him with the merciless attention of a falcon upon a mouse. He stood straight, barring any hope of escape with his sheer mass that obscured the entrance to the shaft. His jaw was hard, and he stood with all the statuesque resolution his perfection allowed. Kirin had long since washed and worn his clothes, ragged though they were, but in that moment felt as stripped bare as he had ever been, naked to the core. He retreated back another step, which caused those golden eyes to narrow in an almost sinister fashion. This was dangerous.

“Are you not trying to frighten me right now? What can you expect, when you are so resolute in remaining my perfect stranger?” The words bubbled up of their own accord, and he damned himself internally. He hadn’t decided on the best course yet, but under that stare, that shocking conviction, his pride would not allow him to wilt so pathetically. Why had he become this way in the first place? Prison must have cowed his spirit more than his mind had yet come to accept.

“Are you an innocent in that game?” It was so sharp, so cold, it cut into him like a knife, that sound which he longed to hear so desperately. His jaw clenched against its truth.

Something stirred in his depths. He felt the careful wall he had spent all this time crafting quiver. He had grown numb to himself, in calculated ways. Allowing the complacency of a new existence to fill the void, he had ignored any other implication that this stranger may yet mean for him. Every sensation he was given, that was accepted as nothing more than the gratification of urges between consenting adults. It was the fulfillment of a natural phenomenon. Any interest further, he rejected. He smothered. He slowly contained within a small part of his mind, dark and horrid, and he crushed it down. It was so carefully conceived, so cleverly done without the other prisoner knowing, yet he felt it now shaking. His paranoia came to a head, an attempt to guard himself against any further assault.

"Must I always be the one to give? Will you not be sated until you have devoured my soul, as well, Angeles? Is that what you are, a siren sent to drain me of my essence and life?”

A scream rose within his throat before he understood why - the change was too swift to anticipate. From guarding the door, the demon in flesh lunged forward, his hand outstretched. There was no warmth or enticement in his eyes, no hope for this to be an act of lust, as they remained cold and desolate. The sound was cut off sharply by those digits, so often caring in their machinations against his body, tightened about his throat. His flight instinct adjusted quickly to fight, and his own hands rose up to claw at the arm which pulled him close. The constriction was not just a threat - it crushed dangerously hard, cutting off his air flow so suddenly that his lungs already cried out for relief, having exhausted much of their supply with the shocked outburst. Kirin’s eyes were wide and horrified, and he could do nothing but watch as Angeles leaned down, his own golden orbs harshly bearing into him.

“Was it the fact I asked for permission that frightened you? My consent to allow you to keep your ass to yourself? Perhaps it was my concern for your body that grew cold after every feeding, or the lust I have held for your lips since our first meeting? Which was it, Kirin, that has made you think of me as a monster you need to tread carefully around?”

Just as suddenly, with jarring force, Angeles released the younger man with a push, sending his slight body toppling to the ground. He gasped for air, the sound a terrible wet rasp, forced against a cough that struggled to clear out a blockage that was never there. His face was sickeningly pale, even more so than his natural complexion, and his hands, claws dripping with blood, came up to feel the bruised stretch of flesh, inspecting it for any deficiencies. The crimson haired brute did not seem to notice the gashes scraped into his arm - but then again, in a moment they were healed. His blood dripped down to the floor, wasted liquid left to stain the stone.

Confusion gripped at every molecule that made Kirin. Horror swirled with a sudden angst, and for the first time he thought he identified something akin to pain in the cold visage of his sudden attacker. The crease in his brow, the firm contortion of those beautiful features, the stillness of those glowing eyes. It only baffled Kirin further.

“If I had the design to harm you, do you not see how easily that could be accomplished? If I sought to take what I needed from you, I could do so. So I ask again. When will this stop, Kirin?”

He didn’t understand. His mind was having difficulty moving through the various pathways of coherent thought. He willed himself to stop, to breathe, to comprehend. His companion was irritated with... What? His own coldness? He tried to recall the routine. It was not so different from the first time he had actually yielded to Angeles’ desire for his blood. They were companionable. Kirin would occasionally ask a question which was dodged. How was that his fault? His chest was beating so terribly, his heart uncontrollable, that he was quite sure the stress of it all would be his death if this devil wasn’t. There was something deeper. He had felt it. Since that time, Kirin had feared his own emotions, of what they would mean if Angeles became involved. The man wasn’t normal, wasn’t immortal like he was. He was something alien, and that made him unpredictable. And he was so frightfully powerful.

The wall within his mind suddenly broke.


	14. Explanations

“What the hell, you fucking bastard?!” His voice was a rasp, but he could feel some foreign emotion welling in his chest, constricting his throat painfully once more. He pushed through. “What do you want from me? Why don’t you just say it, rather than waiting around like some dog, expecting the man to understand his thoughts?” The comparison made him immediately afraid, and he pushed himself back on the ground instinctively from the mere thought of another aggressive assault.

Angeles’ eyes lowered, and then he dropped to his knees. Both of his hands grasped hold of Kirin’s ankles, and he pulled mercilessly, forcing the slighter man to slide upon the uneven surface towards him. It was a none too thrilling experience, made all the more terrifying by the continued dark expression on the older male’s face. This was like a completely different person. As the black haired creature was made to sit face to face with his living nightmare, there was a shift in those glowering orbs. The gold turned molten - still menacing, but with an oddly sultry stirring, the face turning devilishly sadistic as he spoke.

“Stop running away. Stay down here with me.”

Kirin blinked, the cold voice commanding. It was a simple request, and the young immortal was terrified enough to not dare refusing. He did not accept it outright, either. After a heartbeat, the red haired male continued.

“Tell me why you are imprisoned here. Tell me about the world that has changed.”

Some rational part of Kirin was clinging onto the fact he had just been assaulted, rather forcefully choked, and it was struggling vehemently against a stirring part of him that suddenly felt compassion for this monster. A yearning to understand him. A need to fulfill and be fulfilled by him. His lips parted, but his voice would not come forth. His purple eyes wavered darkly beneath the unmovable stare.

“Give yourself to me.”

A shudder sent pinpricks down his body. He was not prepared for the lips that crushed down upon his, for the urgency their heat washed over him with. It was too hard, too forceful, too desperate - too delicious. When had he become this weak? His mouth parted, and his tongue dared to invite in the serpentine counterpart of this dance, and he was met with an eager lust. Their saliva intermixed with the faint coppery flavor of blood, Angeles inadvertently splitting Kirin’s lip once more amidst his erratic display of affection. Both men briefly allowed the exchange to rule their senses, to overpower other sensory input, and then mutually pulled away.

Tears threatened Kirin’s eyes. He did not know when they were summoned, but he could see them gathering along his lower lashes, the damning moisture building up in treacherous amounts. When he met those golden orbs, he sensed within his companion some measure of unease. Perhaps even regret. Right now, there was nothing else in the world but Angeles and Kirin. Neither one knew another. Kirin had realized this long ago, but still allowed his fears to rule him, to cause him to deny himself entirely, without a care for what this stranger truly wanted. He drew his hands up, reaching out to take hold of his partner, taking the large hands into his hold and bringing them up to his lips. Gingerly, he drew his tongue out and across the bloodied surface of one finger. Then, he resolved to use his voice, forcefully steadied.

“My name is Kirin Unlair. I am the second son of the Duke of Arowai.” He looked up towards Angeles, searching the other’s features for some unspoken sign, and was relieved to see that the terrifying countenance had relaxed. Those stunning eyes were once again something closer to serene, though they swirled with a known sign of his lust and desire. He did not make any attempt to interrupt, or pull away his hands, but watched with silent interest. Kirin took a deep breath, feeling the tears cease their building. He was confident he could blink them away. He was less confident that he could face something he had been striving to avoid for too long.

“The current king of this nation is Jeffon, the second of his name, eldest son of the Late Queen Laya. He is young, and unpopular. His ascension to the throne was something of a series of unfortunate events. His mother fell ill suddenly, and was quickly sent to the country side. News spread that her carriage was assaulted by the Low Landers, and it was reported that she died in the attack. Jeffon ascended shortly thereafter, but was also stricken with an illness. His lasted for three years. In that time, he confined himself to his quarters, and allowed matters of state to fall on his advisers. Few things ran smoothly in those times, including a drought that affected a quarter of the nations farming.

“My brother, Lysain, is the ninth in line for the throne. However, my family controls the largest duchy, and Lysain has been at the forefront of innovation since the time he was twelve, gifting immortals and humans alike with new and ingenious ways to simplify our lives. We have the support of the lion’s share of nobility. Prior to my imprisonment, I had been studying at the National University in the capital.

“About a month before my imprisonment, Jeffon released a declaration. He demanded that each of the noble families send a daughter to him as tribute, which he would wed, and consolidate his power among the nobility. This was met with much protestation and outrage, and few did not understand that he was desiring hostages. My family especially spoke out against it, because it would mean sending to him our only daughter who has yet refused to marry. A week before I ended up here, I received a letter from my mother. She said it was urgent that I seek audience with my uncle, the Earl of Beckon, at my earliest convenience. He was out of town, however, so I had to wait for his return. I did not think very much of it at the time.”

At this point, he paused briefly, wondering if his words were boring, but Angeles was unmoved. His stare held firm. With a deep, steadying breath, he continued:

“When I got there, the guards were already waiting. They accused me of treason, and without a warning, I was restrained and dragged down into that cell. My uncle.. I could smell the death in that house. I don’t know what happened exactly, but my family... I believe they attempted and failed a coup. After I was put in that cell, I haven’t learned of anything. My expectation is that they use me as a hostage... Or maybe worse. I am not sure. I don’t think I want to know...”

Biting lightly on Angeles’ finger, though not enough to pierce the skin, he queried bitterly, “Don’t you think I am really a pathetic creature all around?” He felt so powerless. Ignorance was horrifying. Part of him suspected that he would be murdered in his sleep one day, sent to join his mother and brothers, his sister, every other immortal soul that he held as intimate family. And another part of him felt pathetic because he had put up such a miserable fight, such a disappointing display of fortitude. That he wallowed in his cell rather than plotting revenge. That he found comfort in the arms of a stranger while his kin may be rotting already.

The soft press of flesh to his forehead was startling, accompanied by the gentle brush of crimson hairs. The kiss left a warm impression in the skin there, and the tall male did not pull back fully, allowing his breath to further stimulate the innocent region. It brought a tender heat back into Kirin’s heart that he was afraid to accept, but he did not hide from it now.

“You are certainly pitiable, my timid minx. Shall I teach you to be brave?”

The faint sound sent a shiver down his spine, and soft violet orbs lifted to inspect the visage of his companion. Curious and inquisitive, he searched for any indication of insincerity, pondering the risk and reward of being fooled by this beast in immortal flesh. The smoldering gold of his counterpart met his stare unflinchingly, no trace of malice in those glowing depths. They were as mesmerizing as ever, the sort that he was positive could persuade even the most wary of souls given enough time and patience. Angeles held such an unreadable expression, however; the line of his jaw, the set of his lips, the angle of his brow - they betrayed nothing of his inner workings, no matter how studiously Kirin might try to pinpoint them. This roused a familiar bloom of unease within him, but he pushed it away. He hated that aspect of himself, the part which he had never been forced to face before this life as a prisoner. It couldn’t be too late to change it.

And then, it dawned upon him. In this place of desolation, where he existed alone with one other soul - why not capitalize on such for his advantage? It was as if he had been content to sit in the darkness, waiting for a shard of light to come; but why? If his family had fallen, but he survived, did he not now have the means to escape this place? To seek vengeance in truth? It was a frightful thought; he had never been held to the same standards as his brothers. And he had never desired them. Though he accepted his place in society, he did not covet one above him. But no matter how shattering his fall from grace had been, he knew within him was the confidence and strength of will that, perhaps combined with the aid of a creature found in this abyss, would lead him to carving out his own light and finding his enemies fall to their knees before him.

It would be a sweet victory. Then, even if Angeles left him, he could return home with pride instead of shame. “Teach me,” he finally said, his hold on the male’s hands before him shifting. Rather than tender, he grasped them tightly, his eyes finding a focus, seeing a way out of this existence. Had he allowed himself to wallow so low? Pathetic. Being the victim was exhausting, he would much rather watch others bow down before him in submission. And fate had sent him a crimson haired angel just for that purpose.

“Finally,” the words were apathetic, but carried out with the faint exhale of exasperation as those large, dangerously clawed hands shifting to hold his own in return, giving a tug to pull Kirin forward and into the other man’s lap. “Now, we may get to know one another properly.” The smaller man shifted, finding a comfortable position in such an unlikely place to sit, pushing down the awkwardness that threatened to bubble forth. And the change in direction of the conversation prompted an inquisitive nature within the ebony haired immortal.

“Since I have divulged details about myself, I feel it only fair you do the same. If not your history and why you are here, then...” Tilting his head to the side, examining the presently impassive features of his companion with open interest, he continued, “Why do you have such a strong desire for physical contact? Like, just now? Were you imprisoned down here for adultry?” A playful grin, the first he had allowed himself in some time, played upon Kirin’s lips at his own jest, particularly when he witnessed a mirror of the levity in the golden orbs of his partner.

“No,” was the simple answer, at first. Silence followed, as though the other individual were considering his reply at length, and just when Kirin suspected he would get another obtuse answer, Angeles’ arms shifted, wrapping around the lanky creature in his lap and leaning to press his forehead against Kirin’s. The aroma which had become so invitingly familiar was strong in the air, bringing forth heated memories and a comfort that felt odd, almost invasive, when the young immortal felt so emotionally off put by the current string of events. “Isolation does strange things to the mind. After long enough, it becomes hard to tell what is a fabrication from reality. But to touch, taste, please and be pleased.... Every time, it is a reassurance of that reality. That you are not a mirage that will dissipate when my hand finds your flesh.”


	15. Accepting Defeat

There was a tension in Angeles’ voice, something that made the beautiful notes sound lower, truer, more defined that his usual cadence that roused an ache in Kirin’s chest he did not understand. Lifting his hand, his slight fingers begged to find flesh beneath their touch, and so he filled the need, caressing Angeles’ cheek, tracing the line of his jaw down to his lips. Those words seemed too familiar - a feeling he also understood. Though likely for a different reason. This creature was one that could not be real, he had often contemplated, the embodiment of some fantasy that was never known to him until he found it. It was relieving to confirm that madness did not yet rule his mind, to understand that what happened was not fueled by delirium, and even though he was sure that his own mind could never make up such an imagination, he understood the fear of it. For the first several nights, he was sure that every time he descended into the pit, there would be nothing waiting him.

“What are you?”

The words escaped him without conscious desire to convey them, though it was not the first time he had asked. He could feel Angeles tense immediately, the hold around him tightening just enough to make him breathless, saw the faintest furrow threaten the lines of that perfect face. The pounding of his heart froze, and he felt it plummet. Not yet, he supposed. Whatever brief opening he had found was closing, and his insatiable nature would not be satisfied this time. However, before he recoiled himself, he was startled to hear a response.

“When you have conquered your fear of what I am, I will tell you. To start with,” his voice was crisp, harsher than before but not cruel, and as the words met Kirin’s ear, his body was pushed down. Their positions altered as swiftly as the mood, his sunken heart resurrected with a vengeance that had it fluttering like an innocent school girl in his throat as Angeles leaned over him. His large hands clasped around the comparatively frail wrists of the younger immortal, drawing them up and above his head as Angeles shifted his leg up, sliding his knee between Kirin’s thighs to grind against the sensitive area guarded there. “My patience is exceeded. If you will not give yourself willingly, you will be claimed forcefully.”

The words that were prepared to burst forth were silenced as Angeles crushed his lips against Kirin’s. Far more aggressive than he was anticipating, given their exchange up until now, it left him breathless and at a loss for how to respond. Testing the hold on his wrists found them mercilessly constricting, which he was utterly unsurprised by. And, as if in punishment, attempting to pull away caused a tantalizing shift in the crimson haired demon, his body lowering to press lewdly against the slender form of his companion. Hips against hips, Angeles’ leg sliding up and under Kirin’s, forcing their groins to kiss under the fabric which guarded both flesh. The hardness of his companion was more than evident, and the sudden sensation of movement filled his mind with promises of lascivious pleasures, rousing a moan from his throat that was greedily devoured by the fiery kiss.

His mind was driven blank. The reasons to protest seemed like a distant, clouded memory which were so insignificant, he did not dwell on them beyond a passing fancy as he sought to open his mouth more to the brutality of his partner, accepting the force as only one of his ilk could. Violence and passion were never far apart among the immortals, ever on the verge of lust and carnage. It hurt, his wrists ached, his lips split, and teeth nicked his tongue, tainting the flavor of the kiss with sweet copper. It only increased Angeles’ voracity, and Kirin felt himself reacting in kind, arching his body upwards to press more of his flesh against his companion, seeking the burning heat the contact accompanied.

When the pressure was released from his hands, Kirin no longer felt the urge to complain or pull away. The anxious bubble in his gut was persistent, but he was resolved to overcome it, and his present stimulated state made such a feat easier to accomplish. And, in this venture, he was sure that a refusal would fall on deaf ears. He was tired of being pathetic - it was far more gratifying to indulge in his impulses. Angeles leaned back, perching on his knees as he pulled off his shirt, exposing the finely toned musculature to the faint blue glow of the chamber. The surplus of shadow worked to accentuate every definition in the sculpted perfection, and the urge to taste them, to trail his tongue over that expanse and feel the tissue quiver beneath his soft touch hit him hard.

So, naturally, he did just that.

Sanguine color staining his lips, smeared from the brash affection, Kirin pressed a tainted kiss against Angeles’ hip bone, flicking his tongue out to trail it upwards, following the line of his pectoral muscle. Satisfaction caused his chest to clench in a fit of excitement as the skin tensed beneath his touch, as he heard the quick breaths of his companion, felt the pulsing of a rapid heart within his veins. All a reminder that he was a man with the same urges and desires as Kirin, that whatever else there may be, they would yearn for the same measure of gratification. It made him, in this moment, attainable, relatable - less a monster in a cell, and more a kindred spirit as lost and alone as he, himself, was. And it also made him a thousand times more arousing, to witness a stirring in the other that could only be caused by the younger immortal.

In the light of day, perhaps Kirin would look back on this moment with regret, shame, a sense of disgust - when the trappings of confinement fell away, his eyes may see clearly again, the enchantment of the beautiful beast broken. He may feel dissatisfied to have so often caved into the passion of the moment, rather than remaining stalwart and dignified. And even as some logical, clinging to denial part of him attempted to bring these thoughts to the fore of his mind, the raven haired prisoner could not bring himself to acknowledge anything but the touch and yearning for his companion.

The pain of his situation, the shame of his failing, the fear of the future - for the first time, he let it go. It shed from his mind as easily as the tattered fabric that passed as clothing fell from his form, leaving his flesh bare beneath the mixed tender and harsh caresses he was receiving. Was Angeles holding back? It was a curious realization, one which had the amethyst gaze searching over the expression of the mysterious man, finding it yet guarded but seeking in its own right. In little time, whatever vain clothing had guarded the isolated pair from one another was cast aside, leaving nothing to the imagination in the soft azure glow of their chamber - and that is when he was quite sure.

The tension, the hesitance, the need to force but the awareness to hold back. It seemed glaringly obvious now with every touch, every faint scrape of the claw that roused a red line beneath pallid skin without piercing the membrane. And it was suddenly maddening. However smaller he may be, however weakened by this place, it cut into his masculine pride somehow that he was being handled with such delicacy. What might have been touching to a maiden incited a sudden urgency in him, and the male would likely later regret throwing away his caution so easily. For now, he reached up, entwining his fist into Angeles’ long, silken locks and pulling down forcibly, demanding a descend into a kiss, which he was granted without resistance beyond the initial tug.

He had to push himself upwards on his knees, his size not a match for the towering frame of his partner in crime, but he kept hold of the captured hairs to ensure some measure of control as he plunged his tongue boldly forth. Between lips and fangs he ventured, tasting and exploring the interior region of such a sensitive place, finding an intoxicating fulfillment within as he found a willing counterpart that lapped away at his own bruised member. Attempting the same aggression he had felt, gathering up the courage fueled by that overwhelming carnal desire within him, he pressed harder into the kiss, his other hand reaching up to curl slender digits around Angeles’ neck. When he pulled away, his lungs demanding a reprieve as they burned with neglect, he felt the warm, quick gasps of the older creature on his lips and felt a jolt of encouragement, allowing their breath to mingle a moment longer before he spoke.

“I’m not a glass doll, and I’ll not run away this time.” It was hard to speak without gasping, he realized. Frustrating. Angeles’ hands shifted, one moving to cup around his lower back, lifting him slightly to press swollen members against one another, while the other captured his chin and held his face in place, glowing honeyed eyes swirling with unbridled desire. It made him shudder with anticipation, and he rocked his hips against his devilish companion, managing to force out, “Just hurry and fuck me so I can’t disappear.”

When did he dig his grave so deep? There was nothing left to do but lie in it and enjoy being devoured.

It happened too swiftly to protest if he had wanted to - which was farthest from his mind. His slight form was manipulated, twisted and turned around so that his back was to Angeles, a strong hand pressing between his shoulder blades to make him bend forward. Propping himself on hands and knees, he twisted back to bear witness to a sight that would no doubt haunt his dreams; a crimson haired devil, beautiful enough to shame the greatest of sculptures, holding in one hand a throbbing, veined shaft that was all too eagerly awaiting gratification whilst he licked his other fine digits. A shudder quaked through his form, stirring a fluttering in his heart and stomach that made him both ecstatic and nauseous all at once, the combination dizzying and dazzling.

A jolt of pain startled him as the first finger pressed into the part of him which was certainly not designed as an entrance. It was so unexpected that it caused him to cry out, and he heard a muttered curse from behind him, the words too jumbled to make out but the tone thick with frustration. “Are you a coward or a dare devil?” It wasn’t anything which expected an answer, and it wouldn’t be able to get one, for before Kirin’s body had decided what it thought of the invading finger pushing inwards, rousing such an odd sensation saturated in discomfort, it had retreated and something very different took its place.

If the finger had been a pinprick, this was a thorough stabbing - Angeles’ body crashed into him, his excited member forcing its way through a too tight sphincter, tearing into the slighter man’s body and causing such a shock of pain that the flames of passion were nearly completely doused. Tears blinded his eyes as he quivered and screamed, the only comfort to be found the warm form of the larger man as he folded over him, a strong arm wrapping around Kirin’s chest. “I’ll have to make this up to you, so please don’t break.” Something was wrong, he felt. Was this what sex between men was like? Was this what women felt? His insides were seared and displaced, and he felt fresh hell as his companion moved, withdrawing each arduous inch only to push back in like some sadistic demon.

And then there was something else, as he plunged back in, tearing something enough to stir the scent of blood into the air, mixing it with sweat and semen in a painfully erotic manner; that swollen member, pushing inside him, making him tremble in agony, also pressed against something even more foreign - it sent a sharp, piercing shot of ecstasy through his form, twisting the pain into tormented pleasure. Again, and again. His cries of pain became muddled, corrupted by some warped side of him that found this appealing, coaxed onwards as Angeles’ other hand came around to take hold of his own neglected member, rubbing against its length to elicit more confusing sensations to fill his body.

His body was screaming now, every nerve firing an erratic array of excruciating pain and then maddening pleasure. It felt wrong, weird, and yet part of him felt as though he would only break if it stopped. The sounds that erupted from his throat were not his own, but a voice that was foreign to him, one which was inclined to moaning, to crying, to calling out for Angeles. The tears were flowing freely, and no amount of pride could make them stop - whether they were from the one extreme or the other, however, he did not know. When the sudden spasm of his climax racked through his body, his seed spilling onto the hand which still coaxed it out of him, and onto the stone floor below, he did not understand why it had come, could not fathom his body finding enough pleasure in this act to reach release - but it wasn’t over. The thrusting into his body did not stop, and though the pain seemed to lessen with each forceful penetration, it still churned within him a strangeness that carried with it some fresh fear.

Over and over and over - pain and pleasure seemed to become the same thing, and his mind wavered, overwhelmed exhausted, his seed gathering again in his shaft, and then something new - a pause in the movement as he felt his body swell with a burning heat, his whole self filling to the brim with something strange, something dangerous, something that drove him to the brink of pleasure once more, and then past it - into the darkness of unconsciousness, where his mind sought refuge from the onslaught of over stimulation.

 

Some part of him understood on an instinctive level that he would be forever changed after this - that the memory of this would corrupt his body somehow, that the sensation of being filled and displaced so fully might become something he craved, when the memory of the pain and fear dissipated. He felt that this was the first time Angeles was being honest with him, after all, and had he not asked for it? Whatever would come to pass, at least he could remember this moment, with joy or resentment or lust. But not regret.


	16. Pillow Talk

It was very warm when he woke. Wrapped in a thick blanket, bundled against the chill of the morning air, resting against something soft but not too yielding. His bed, then, at the winter estate. He didn’t want to open his eyes, because something told him that would make this all unreal. A sweet aroma was all around him, a swaddling of sensation that stirred something in his stomach, a pleasant tingling, a faint arousal. He shifted, reaching out his arms for his pillow, curling slender limbs around something long and firm - a body pillow? He coiled his hold around, clinging against the soft object, only to find that it wasn’t soft at all. Curious digits trailing their way upwards and then down, pressing against the firm material inquisitively, before finding a part which yielded to his ponderous kneading.

A deep, resonating chuckle shattered the fantasy mercilessly.

Vibrating through his form, the individual provoked to such being close enough to touch - no, closer. As startled violet eyes opened to take in the reality of the situation, he found himself cradled in a hold against a larger male, the strange warmth the heat given off another body, firm arms encircling him as he slept. The rush of color that flooded his cheeks was increased as self awareness told him that he was currently fondling the very naked man’s rear, and that he was also stripped to nothing.

Instinct had him retreating before he really understood the situation, before his mind took the time necessary to piece together the memories which would lead logical deduction to this scene, and he felt immediate and excruciating regret for that. As he leaned up, his back and hips spasmed a protest, causing him to cry out from the shock of it all, and then those arms around him constricted and pulled his form back down onto the bare flesh of his companion.

The rush of memory was more painful than the soreness of his body, and brought with it a hefty dose of shame, but it was punctured by the soft voice of his companion, the tone once more that gentle allure that seemed more apt to hypnotism than normal conversation; “Don’t try to run, it will only hurt worse. Just stay like this.” Tilting his head upwards to inspect Angeles, to attempt to read the expression which accompanied those too gentle words, he was caught between being convinced and spiteful.

The weakness of his body persuaded him to yield, and when his muscles relaxed, so too did the hold around him. “When I said ‘hurry up and fuck me’ I did not think you would take it quite so literally,” he managed to pout, shifting his eyes away to inspect further where they were. To some growing realization of horror, he noted that they were surrounded by walls, upon a soft surface, and were slightly shrouded from the faint, perveiling blue glow of the hidden chamber. They were resting in the sarcophagi. As the tension began to return, a soft touch to his cheek brought his focus back to the other male, whose fingers began to push aside stray hairs from his face, lightly tracing the bone structure beneath his flesh.

“It was not my intention to do so, but you cried so endearingly. And you have been quite cruel to me, it was lack of patience mixed with revenge,” he spoke clearly, in a tone which seemed earnest enough, if not lightly laced with some level of amusement. It roused a darker crimson to saturate Kirin’s cheeks, and he could not decide whether it was from embarrassment or anger, or some perverse combination of the two combined with his fluttering heart at such a blunt admission. His emotions were becoming increasingly exhausting, he decided.

His body sagged back into the embrace once more, and this time it was Angeles who shifted, sliding his rigid form out from under Kirin’s and shifting their position so that he could lean up beside the slighter male, assessing him with a curious liquid metal gaze. “Did you hate it?”

“Yes.”

“Liar,” Angeles said with a grin, lowering his trailing fingers to stroke the young immortal’s lips. “But I will be more gentle next time. When you are recovered.”

“Who says there is a next time?” It was a petulant thing to say, and his chest clenched in protest at the thought, which he found revolting. It was a terrible experience that he did not want to repeat, though another part of him found gratification in the fact his partner wanted another bout of it.

Angeles answered him by leaning forward and enticing a soft, tender kiss from Kirin, his tongue slipping out simply to tease the other’s entrance, this act such a stark contrast from the passionate and aggressive kisses he had grown accustomed to, it stole his breath in a new and disconcerting way. “Don’t make me feel guilty, when you were the one who has wronged me from the start with your unwarranted paranoia.”

It was becoming clear that this creature was one of many dispositions, and each new one discovered made the young nobleman all the more baffled than the last. This dichotomy of tenderness and judgment made him sulk in earnest, his brow furrowing as he defended himself, “That isn’t fair - anyone would be paranoid around you, and your perverted ways.”

“Perverse? Harsh words coming from such a willing participant.”

“Th-that is! Not the point!”

“Then what is?” The question was effortlessly spoken, breath warm against Kirin’s skin, his companion still lingering ever so close. There was the sudden epiphany, the acknowledgment that came rushing forth that this situation was very alien to the both of them. The words came easily, and the anxiety in the pit of his stomach wasn’t there. It was almost comfortable, despite the fact his body ached and his heart throbbed painfully in his chest. This was intimacy, he decided, and leaned forward to offer a faint kiss of his own volition, pushing back the bubble of bashful unease that tossed his stomach in uncomfortable somersaults.

“You are really scary,” he said despite himself, the admittance heavy in his throat as he looked away. The rational, intelligent, yet stubbornly prideful part of himself was still there, in his mind, casting judgment and shame upon his emotions for their erratic nature, for the yearning he was feeling, and chastised him for not ridding himself of this situation long ago. Angeles was dangerous. But, a small part of him begged the question. But was he dangerous to Kirin?

“So, you must learn to be brave,” was the simple reply from the man in question, his voice still a gentle lull as his hand shifted, capturing the younger immortal’s chin and drawing him up. “Do we run in circles more, or can we step past this?”

It was his turn to answer without words, but this did not prevent a moment’s hesitation to still him, to cause him doubt. Fleeting - he had to accept the consequences of his actions, and backtracking would get him no where. Flinching from the protest of his body, he pushed his torso up on one arm, fixing his features into a haughty expression that he had honed from years of privileged life.

“Apologize first. You have done everything but.”

A fine red brow arched over those golden eyes, the man tilting his head in a manner kin to a cat watching its prey, interested to witness it from an angle anew. When he spoke, there was a chilling amusement in his tone that made Kirin shiver. “But I am not sorry. To apologize would be a lie.”

“You are not sorry you hurt me?” Deep violet eyes narrowed, searching the expression of his companion and, as always, unable to really determine the meaning of anything he witnessed there.

“You told me you would not break - did you think that means you would not hurt?” Dark color tainted the pale flesh of the raven haired immortal, and he huffed mightily at the reminder. “Besides, this will likely happen to some degree any time I take you. Will you wish for me to apologize every time?” Kirin parted his lips as if to protest, but nothing came out, leaving him increasingly exasperated. “If any harm comes to you from now on, it will be from me. I won’t let another touch you. But I can’t promise I will always feel sorry for what I do.”

The shift of the words, the direction of conversation, made Kirin pause in his fumbling for a defense. His brow furrowed, and he inspected Angeles anew. “Why do you say that?” His voice was no longer haughty, feigned or otherwise, but instead nervous, feeling his stomach constrict with anxiety at what the answer might be. The crimson haired demon just tilted his head further, watching right back. No answers again, it would seem, and this caused a new frustration. And this time, he acted upon it.

Or, he would have, if at that very moment there was not a sudden, invasive sound into the controlled environment in which they dwelt.


	17. Intruders

A loud bang from above, heavy footsteps, shouts muffled from distinction. A sharp panic raised within Kirin as he spun around to face the entrance of the lower chamber, but of course there was nothing to be seen. Whoever had invaded their prison was above, in the cell where the noble should be. A flurry of thoughts all assaulted him at once, but the truth of the situation was simple - someone had come for him. Whether it was to release him or execute him, he did not know, though by the sound of the commotion, he could safely assume it was not the former. Too many individuals. That seemed excessive, considering how long he had been left to rot, fed nothing but the bare minimum, a diet too poor to maintain his full measure of strength.

     His chest clenched, and he turned to find Angeles - who was not there. He hadn’t felt the other move, had not sensed the shift, but he found him now near the entrance of the cavern, slipping his arms into a shirt. His trousers were already in place. An internal groan was smothered as he realized his own state, and dread bubbled up - it would be too mortifying to be found like this. Perhaps the crimson haired immortal was back to mind reading, for at that moment, he looked back at Kirin, a smirk curling the edges of his face. He glanced meaningfully towards the pile of clothes on the floor, but made no move to aid the smaller male in retrieving them.

     A complaint was already at Kirin’s lips, but a gesture from his companion, the lifting of a finger to his lips, was enough to silence it as the sound above stopped. The temptation to get up and get dressed was nearly overwhelming, but the youth was not foolish enough to think he could accomplish that before whoever was above found this hole and descended. It was not as though he had done anything to conceal its existence as there had been no cause, no guard regularly checking on him. Just now, that felt like a very foolish choice.

     He could hear the voices now, both male, the tension palpable in their exchange.

     “How did that scrawny lord manage to burrow this all by himself?”

     “Shit, should we send for the others?”

     “It isn’t like that one is known for his brutality. We should be fine. Ugh, it really reeks in here.”

     Angeles was far enough away from the entrance to not be immediately noticed, but he had place himself nearer it than the center of the room, and took his time leisurely fixing his trappings. When he was done, he looked completely out of place, save for his long and untamed hair, the silken length flowing behind him. Kirin felt a sudden regret that he had not played with it, braided it, cut it - something. There would likely not come an opportunity to do so again, if his prison sentence was at an end.

     There was a clambering, a loud ruckus, and after a moment, he defined the sound as someone climbing down, likely heavily armed, based on the sound of metal clanging together. Kirin leaned back down, concealing all but his gaze beneath the wall of the coffin he rested in. That was a blessing in a sense, he thought, since no one would immediately ascertain his state. His pride willed him to take action, but he let it simper unmet this time, observing with a morbid curiosity at what scene might unfurl when those climbing down came face to face with the monster who lived in this place.

     “This... Couldn’t have been carved by Lord Kirin.” The tone of voice had shifted from incredulous to caution. He supposed the guard wasn’t completely daft. The second was shortly behind the first, and both took their time before leaving the small alcove that was the tunnel entrance. It did not take them long to spot Angeles, either, as they shifted to take in the contents of the chamber. There was a greater length of time before they would not Kirin, he suspected, since their curiosity had ceased on the crimson haired immortal.

     The youth took the opportunity to examine each of the men, curiously wondering if he would recognize either. The first was tall, broadly built, his dark hair cropped short so that it did not dare obscure his face in a style that was popular for the military. He work a helmet in the style of the royal guard, and the tailored uniform of active duty. Several plates of armor guarded his shoulders, chest, and waist, whilst there was a greater amount of sparsity for his legs. The small metalworking of gears fastened around each joint, attesting to the recent augmentation style that had been employed following his brother’s latest innovation. The thought that they were capitalizing on the technology of a family who they had shamelessly imprisoned made Kirin nauseous with a burning hatred, but he stayed silent and motionless.

     The second man was stouter than the first, though he was not flabby of flesh, simply of a broader nature. This one Kirin vaguely recognized as being part of the Marion family, though this was only because it was a family who had served his own for years before a branch moved to the capital. He did not know this one, personally, though the rusty auburn hair and grey-green eyes were both evidence of the resemblance. He was similarly garbed, and both men had a pistol at the waist on the opposing side of their sword. Neither had drawn a weapon yet. He wondered if that was a mistake.

     “Identify yourself,” the tall one spoke, his voice containing the gruff formality of the guard. Angeles just tilted his head. Kirin could not see his expression from his angle, but he imagined it was bored.

     “Identify yourself!” The shorter one was less patient, his voice expressing some mixture of anger and eagerness. This insistence was also thoroughly ignored by the taller creature confronting them.

     “Why have you come?” His voice was such velvet - it was a little shocking. Kirin had expected him to use something harsher, colder, the scary manner of speech that the youth himself was fretful of, but this was not that - it was dripping with every ounce of charisma the gorgeous creature possessed, and gave an even greater contrast to him and his surrounding. If he were a noble sitting in a lounge in the Hotel D’Corio, one of the most thoroughly outfitted locales in the Capital, he would have suited perfectly. Better than Kirin himself, perhaps. That thought irked him, his pride wounded despite himself.

     It caught the pair of guards by surprise, their expression shifting to something of confusion. The stout one recovered first, however, his brows coming together in an ugly manner, the hairy pair pressing together into a singular unibrow, his face flushing with scarlet color that made his complexion worsen somehow. It was certainly not a becoming blush. “We are asking the questions here! Where is Lord Kirin, and who are you?”

     The other blinked out of his daze at that, but looked less sure he should bristle up like his companion. And he also had the clarity of mind to look around the room further, to see if they might gain an answer through simple observation. His chestnut eyes landed on Kirin’s and the small noble managed to offer him a glare that was likely less frightening than he wished, considering he was hunched down hiding in a sarcophogi. He would have straightened up, even with his throbbing hips, if that didn’t expose his shirtless state. At least he wasn’t filthy. The thought wasn’t very comforting.

     The taller one nudged his partner and nodded towards Kirin’s position, at which point the angry lout seemed to also switch gear. That seemed foolish, neither of them paying much mind to the crazy red head. “Lord Kirin, His Majesty Jeffon, long may He reign, has summoned your presence for judgment. Submit yourself at once.”

     The soft laughter called their attention back, with ever growing perplexity. This time, the stout one had the mind to draw his pistol. Kirin wasn’t sure if that was wise or not. The words that followed were still honeyed, beseeching more than demanding, though there was the sense that the statuesque demon would not waver. “What punishment does this King have in mind for the young Lord?” The raven haired immortal in question was beginning to wonder why Angeles even bothered.

     But then, the strangest thing happened. The tall one answered.

     “The Unlair family refused to lift the boycott until Kirin is released. His Majesty has arranged plans for a public execution.” The burly guard whirled on his partner with such a look of surprise, but then the tall one looked shocked himself, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. That seemed odd.

     “Thank you for your cooperation.” So quickly, the honey was shriveled to ice, and cut into those present like a knife. But before the angry one could lift his pistol, Angeles was there, behind him, and there was -!

     Kirin’s stomach wretched, though there was nothing there to expel. An all too familiar hand was sticking out from the short guard’s chest, the metal that had pretended to be armor torn through as though it were nothing more than wet paper. Sanguine blood coated the long digits as they clenched around an organ - a heart - while the victim had just enough time to likely register that he was dead before the body sagged, Angeles withdrawing his touch from him.

     A sudden shot resounded through the room with deafening consequences, the rounded chamber causing the bang to reverberate and multiply, the acoustics unpleasant for such a purpose. Instinct had Kirin ducking down, but he very quickly lifted his head to stare at the scene before him. The tall guard wasn’t completely incompetent - he had drawn and fired his pistol after the initial shock of the event had passed through his mind, and Kirin saw the sudden bloom of red stain Angeles’ creme shirt. The look of mischief that had marked his face drained quite suddenly, leaving nothing but chilling irritation, the expression of a man who had just discovered an ant biting at his ankle.

     The movement was too quick to capture, a fact which vexed the onlooker to no end, but when it was over, Angeles’ fangs were in the neck of the other guard, whose arms were twisted and useless to protest, disfigured in a grotesque manner that brought back the thought of purging his stomach. He was thankful that his kind did not commonly have any fluid to regurgitate, unless they had recently fed. It had been a day since his last meal, or some duration of time that felt like a day. The guard screamed, such an awful sound, pitiable and wretched, but Angeles did not seem to hear. Too long, he drained the male, and when he did finally release the creature, the body dropped like a hollow husk onto the ground, once flush flesh pasty, the true nature of the immortal revealed in the most ghastly of ways.

     It had been too easy. Wide eyed, the noble continued to watch the tragedy unfold, witnessing as his crimson companion retrieved the discarded heart of the short guard and bit into it, pondering over its flavor as naturally as if it were a cup of wine. He seemed displeased with it, since he thereafter dropped the flesh and turned to face Kirin. The wound on his chest must have stopped bleeding, for the color no longer spread, but it had left the creature with a terrifying image, like a man walking out of a field of carnage. Blood dripped from his claws, smeared across his lips, splattered over his chest and drenched the lower half of his body. The smell was so strong, it was the first time Kirin was not interested in it - no, that was a lie. He found it very enticing, but the combination of fear and desire made the sensation nauseating.

     He had never seen an immortal die. It wasn’t a common occurrence, thus the name of their race. And among the nobility, it was very rare, since most simply retired into a far off estate when they decided they had indulged enough in the finery of life. He had seen the death of animals, though - of pigs, of horses, even of humans, though such was also frowned upon in most circles. Those delicate creatures were a necessary staple in their society, after all. For the first time, he felt himself very mortal. That in any number of seconds, his life could be stripped away into dust, and it made him very much aware that he did not wish for that to happen.

     There must have been something telling in his wide, violet eyes, or perhaps the faint trembling of his body, because before the tall monster approached him, he paused to query, “Are you thinking something like, ‘That could be me?’” The sound startled Kirin, and he sat up straighter, the pain in his body faint with the new wave of adrenaline this situation had caused his form to rush into what blood he did possess. He swallowed hard, grasping for words that he just couldn’t put together. 


	18. Ascension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh-oh! I definitely messed up and accidentally uploaded the next chapter (Paved in Blood) before this one! Bonus guys, I guess! I will have to fix my uploads appropriately, sorry for anyone who read it and was thoroughly confused! That is what I get for doing things before bed.

 The memory of their conversation, just before, was quick to stir in his mind. ‘If any harm comes to you from now on, it will be from me.’ Was he planning such, then? To take Kirin next, after he got the freedom he wanted? No, another part of him rationalized. That didn’t make any sense. Before, had he not chastised Kirin for such paranoia without justice? How easily Angeles could do away with him, he soberly considered. He imagined it would take no more effort than flicking a fly, if this display were to go by. And he did not. Even now, as he strode towards the smaller male, his expression did not seem to hold malice.

     “Yes,” the ebony haired noble finally found that voice. He swallowed hard, blinking the panic from his face as he studied the demon approach him. “Is it going to be?” It hurt to ask - his stomach and chest constricted, forcing out the breath from his lungs, a crushing anxiety crippling him as he dreaded the answer.

     “Don’t be foolish. You are much too delectable to waste.” That wasn’t a no, Kirin considered bitterly, though it was enough of a reassurance that when the taller man curled his arms around him, thick though they may be with another’s blood, he did not retreat. With a shocking degree of care, the devil that had just murdered two of the immortal kin cradled the smaller form of Kirin like some delicate babe, hefting him up out of the coffin. The trembling seemed to abate then, the warmth of his companion soothing his stressed frame, but there was still a lingering knot of fear within his throat that kept him from asking anything else. “It seems that our departure from this place has been expedited.”

     For a fully grown man, even if he were smaller than his companion, few would find any pleasure in being made the dependent. Whatever comfort strong arms holding him may provide, there was a prideful, stubborn part of him that found it quite intolerable, and thus he was rather relieved to be set down. Allowing him time to find his legs beneath him, and even going so far as to ling as a brace when the sudden weight of his body, the gravity pulling him ever downwards, caused a sharp pain in his hips, Angeles gave him the necessary time to acquire his balance before retreating.

     There was too much, too quickly - a recent trend in a life that had been plunged into isolation. One would think that such a fact would make one more absorbent of changes in the environment, but this was such a stark contrast from the normal, in a mind so resigned to only so much variance, it was too much to take in and truly contemplate all at once. But, Kirin was hardly the sort of individual to act first and think later, under most circumstances. That was careless, and he prided himself on many things - being cautious among them. So, he coped with this bombardment the only way he knew how.

     Strategically.

     Firstly, he needed clothes. If they were leaving, he wouldn’t very well be prancing around the court naked. The thought of striding out of prison in his tattered dregs was only a very small step above nudity, but it was a step. Briefly, he considered stealing clothes from one of the corpses, though this was a step too low for such a noble creature to consider. Plus, they would be ill fitted. Best to simply work with what he had for the past.... However long it had been. He’d have to find that out when he got out.

     Dressing was a painful attire, and one which Angeles did not move to help with. He had shifted focus over to the alcove which would serve as their escape, and though Kirin could not identify what, precisely, he was intent on, it certainly absorbed the entirety of his attention. This was a blessing, the youth thought, as it allowed him time to process and consider, to dress without embarrassment, but also forced him to struggle through the stiffness and aches of his body. As flashes of their exchange flooded his mind, he was doubly thankful for the lack of his companion in this moment.

     Secondly, dressed as acceptable as he was going to be, he considered the corpses. Such violence had come very naturally to the mysterious partner in crime, and that left the ebony haired immortal even more unsure of where he stood with the brutish devil. The highest crime that could be committed was killing an immortal, since they were - well - intended to be immortal. Their bodies did not deteriorate as mortal flesh with age, and they were immune to nearly all illness and ailment, injuries healing easily and aging slowly. Humans served them, in large part, because they maintained such a godlike image and governed with fairness in these modern times.

     Yet, while the death of his kin was unsettling, there was also some relief in the sight. If Angeles could dispatch of these creatures so easily, then he could certainly help ensure Kirin’s safety, couldn’t he? Perhaps help him return home, where he could be reunited with whatever was left of his family. He didn’t need to fear his crimson haired companion so long as they remained companionable - the most powerful of allies should be held close, to prevent them from becoming enemies.

     This analysis allowed him to settle the churning of his stomach, to release some of his anxiety, and turn his attention back on the fascinating man in question.

     Angeles was looking up the shaft, his back to the shorter male, speaking in a quiet voice that Kirin did not imagine was directed at him. When he approached, the words stopped and the ancient occupant of this forgotten place turned, a grin curling the edges of his lips in a shockingly youthful expression - it was dazzling in its own right, and made Kirin believe, for an instant, that this creature might be no different from himself after all. The instant passed, however, as that handsome man reached forward and touched the rungs along the wall.

     A vibrant blue light flashed, the stone illuminating with the sudden appearance of large runes that the young immortal could not begin to contemplate - but the stimulation of them caused all the azure lights to suddenly burn bright and harsh. Dazed, Kirin did not see the arm that lashed out to encircle his waist, drawing him up against the red haired man, holding him in place while Angeles pressed further and said something in a low, dark voice - a word which Kirin could not understand, nor repeat if he tried. Like the wind, it was a sound that whistled in one ear and out the other, a mirage that he couldn’t catch.

     There was a deafening crack.

     The lights were snuffed out, and the raven headed male was suddenly once again in the arms of his companion, and moving - a jump? A climb? He couldn’t see, but felt his weight press down with elevation, and then light was flooding the room - his old cell. The door was open, though the chamber empty, casting a horrifying illumination of the disgust which he had been force to endure for far too long. The reality of the situation hit him with a euphoria so extreme, it left him woozy. He found himself clinging onto the broad expanse of chest he was still held against, seeking something solid as his head tried to stop spinning.

     Footsteps could be heard in the distance, somewhere in the hall beyond this grisly cell. A sigh escaped his partner, and Kirin was unsure whether it was of disappointment or satisfaction. Either way, the man once more lowered him down to the floor, taking a moment to ensure he was steady before turning towards the entrance. When he spoke this time, Kirin was sure that there was amusement in those lilting words, “Such an invigorating affair. Won’t you watch and be in awe?” Golden eyes glowing with a sinister intent looked at the smaller immortal with a twisted delight, one which made Kirin shiver with a contorted mix of unease and arousal, finding himself strange for the thought as Angeles turned his attention to the door just in time.

     Three more guards appeared, their silhouette blocking the light from entering the area. Surprised by what they saw - for who would not be, when faced with something like Angeles, gorgeous and blood covered as he was - the trio immediately all went for their weapons. Two swords and a pistol appeared, but no sooner had Kirin time to assess the possible danger than his monstrous companion was upon them. This was swifter, brutal than the first two, and there was an expression upon his features that chilled the young immortal to the core - a look of almost glee, as claws shred into what should be marble flesh, punctured through a throat, claimed a lost sword to severe a head.

     The blood was beautiful, nauseating, and horrifying all at once. He’d not had time to be concerned before it was over, no longer than the span of a few breathes, the guards hardly understanding the situation before the life was gone from their corpses. Sanguine liquid bathed the demon before him from head to foot, his clothing soaked through and clinging to his musculature in sadistic allure. Angeles stood there for several moments, a sword still clutched in his hand, breathing deeply of the new aroma of carnage as it filled the small, grotesque prison. Then, turning back to look upon his avid onlooker, he held out his hands, bloodied and all, in invitation.

     Not for the first time, the realization that his actions, that finding the chamber down into the depths, giving himself so willingly to the strange enchanter he had met there, all might one day be something he would regret. That by doing so, he may have revived a monster that should have lay dormant and forgotten, unable to escape his prison and terrify the immortals above. His conscience may one day convince him to feel a deep and great regret for all that had transpired, and perhaps for what was about to, to feel remorse for whatever lives had already been lost because of it.

     But not today.

     Today, all that mattered was that this glorious monster, however horrifying and terrible, was holding out his hand to Kirin. He was making a path for them both out of the dreadful place, this place that had caused the boy to fall so low, to crumble to new shame and loathing. At least for now, this was his monster, Kirin thought - and if he needed to walk through hell, it was best to walk by the devil’s side.

     He moved forward, willing his steps to be sound beyond his discomfort, and took that proffered hand. The blood squished between flesh as his alabaster digits intertwined with the slender, cruel fingers of his companion, and he knew that his own hands would be stained red. It did not matter. When Angeles set off down the hall, there was no longer a feeling of nervous anxiety. Though he was sure there would come another time for fear of this man, now was not it. They could leave together, and no one would harm Kirin.

     Today, he would follow Angeles no matter what lay on the road ahead.


	19. Paved in Blood

There were several more run-ins with soldiers as they ascended the depths of the dungeon. At each, Angeles would keep hold of Kirin’s hand, but tug him behind while he held out the sword in his other. And every time, he would also tell the men to kneel and live, or fight and die. It was never a fair fight. But, with each body that fell on the ground, staining their path to salvation crimson, it felt easier to bear. It seemed an eternity before they reached the door to depart - and yet, at the same time, it was unbelievably swift. To think that the path down to his cell was not so far from the surface, and yet they were worlds away.

The door was not locked. It was large, and oddly familiar - the pristine gears that moved the joints, the stainless steel combined with tarnished gold decor, the grand nature of its size and practicality of its design. It was a ware that his own family had crafted, his elder brother specifically. And, bitterly, he even recalled when it had been commission, though at the time he had not honestly contemplated what it would be used for.

The sight of it made Angeles pause, and Kirin suspected it was for a very different reason. This door had no handles, and though he recognized the gears as in the unlocked position, he wondered what the sight would look like to his companion. Then, more curiously, he considered how long the crimson haired creature had been in that dungeon, covered up and hidden. How had he lived? The longest sleep the young noble had ever heard of was a century - though some said that the older the vampire, the longer they could rest without waking for fresh blood. Kirin was reasonably sure that was a myth.

Before Angeles could decide to break the door down, as the smaller male concluded this would likely be the next course of action for a man that very obviously felt brutal force could solve most problems - and had successfully demonstrated this technique - Kirin shifted to the side, to locate a familiar lever, and pulled. The grinding of the gears filled the air, the sound harsh compared to the peaceful silence that had been in his mind for what seemed eons, but sedate when he considered the slice of limbs, the surprised cries of voices that would never sound again.

His hand clenched again, and Angeles took a step back. His expression looked vaguly surprised, and when he turned his attention to Kirin, his lips twisted into a smile that made the younger immortal’s heart start pounding. It lacked the usual sardonic nature of this creature’s amusement, and seemed to say more clearly than words that the tall brute was pleased. And then the doors parted, and light bathed the pair of prisoners.

It was blinding.

Closing his eyes against the sun, he flinched as his skin seared beneath a light it was unaccustomed to. But at the same time, he relished it - the warmth, the burst of air that was not stagnant, that held within it the aromas that he had always taken for granted - earth, grass, flowers, humans - and this time, it was heavy with Angeles, who stood so close at hand, stirring within the malnourished noble a euphoria that had him dizzy as his companion strode out to face the day. Breathless, Kirin followed, his mind having difficulty catching up to reality. No guards were waiting here, which he found to be moderately odd in a passing thought. His companion walked with a purpose through a courtyard Kirin recognized as being part of the rear compound of the palace. It was deserted.

They entered the palace. His brain finally seemed to grasp the new conditions of his world, and a sudden fear shot through him. “We can leave through that courtyard - I know the path around the palace,” his voice was higher than it should have been, and that displeased the composed noble. At least it seemed no one else was around to witness that, a fact that only alarmed him further.

“Why would we leave?” Though not brutal, the chill in that tone was oddly threatening, leaving the noble disinclined to argue even as a new sort of panic swelled within him. It was one thing to escape, to run away home where he could be safe and secure. It was another to continue conflict. There was another, sickening notion that occurred to him, that the monster he had released might really have no other desire than to kill the whole of the immortal race - was that why he had been locked away? But, then again, he did not seem lost in blood lust. And wouldn’t he have killed Kirin by now, if that were the case? His usefulness must have been exceeded.

None of these mental contemplations were enough to reassure the young immortal that the feeling of dread twisting in his gut was just his usual paranoia.

The strides that he followed behind were so sure, so deliberate. It was hard to keep pace, Kirin realized, his own legs shorter, causing him to nearly job behind the brisk nature of his companion’s strut. He could pull away, he considered, make a run for it himself. Angeles may not even try to stop him. Something sickening mixed with his brewing dread, a feeling he did not recognize, and so he just held on tighter and picked up pace, glancing upwards at his fellow man. Golden eyes were set forward, and the subtle glow they had maintained in their underground chamber seemed to be a low smolder now, unable to compete with the electrical lighting that illuminated the ornate halls of the palace. His expression was impassive, though the blood that was smeared and speckled upon his creamy skin gave the look a sinister quality. Fleetingly, Kirin wondered how anyone had stood in his way to start with - the noble would never have been that foolish. He had never seen an individual who felt so frightening.

The panic was building, so he grasped at something else to occupy his overactive thoughts. They were turning, moving through the halls of the palace. The back side was primarily guest quarters and rooms for entertainment, large lounges oft used by the visiting nobles. The marble floor was decorated in the colors of spring, and vaguely he recalled seeing the blooms of that season in the garden. It had been fall when he was imprisoned - could it have only been six months? It felt like forever. Again, he was puzzled at the emptiness of the place, but then as they turned towards the west wing, everything made sense.

A regimen of guards stood before the large door that guarded the throne room. A more decorative version of the style used for the dungeon, this was also a gear powered creation of his family, though inlaid with such a stunning amount of gold and ivory, one would hardly believe it was practical. The metal beneath, however, Kirin knew was a much strong steel alloy that would be difficult for even those of his ilk to penetrate. And he also recognized it as being locked just now. The palace was under threat - he assumed that what remained of the nobles present must be beyond that chamber, or perhaps they had evacuated. Without knowing the cause of it, he couldn’t determine which it was.

The guards all drew weapons, and for the first time since leaving the dungeon, Angeles released Kirin’s hand. Taking it a step further, as he pulled his slender digits free of what must have become a death grip, he gave a firm push to the slighter man’s shoulder, sending him staggered back around the corner they had just took.

Just in time to miss the first volley of bullets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally accidentally posted as chapter 17. Sorry about that! I hope it makes sense, and BONUS, two chapters today. I better get to writing.


	20. Laughter and Blood

“Stop it, you idiots! The orders are to execute the Lord publicly! You’ll hit him at this rate!” Kirin did not recognize the words, and he did not care to consider it, too traumatized by what was standing before him. The god-like creature of the underworld still stood, though he had staggered back a few paces, fresh blooms of crimson moisture spreading over his clothing. There were so many - his left thigh, right calf, his torso riddled, even the arm which had just pushed the young immortal out of the way. Blood pooled on the ground. Kirin felt his own drain from his face, his blood running cold through his veins.

But then, there was that beautiful laughter.

It felt as though his chest would collapse in on itself, how tightly it clenched, as he heard the sound that could only be from his angel of death. Violet eyes found themselves resting upon that man’s face, widened as they witnessed placidity melt into something twisted and sadistic, and then he was no longer in front of him. More shots were fired, and then screams. He didn’t want to look - didn’t want to see what was happening. But, curiosity is a devil, and it compelled him to override sense and crawl onto his knees to look around the corner’s edge.

The look of glee was positively revolting and exciting at the same time - he couldn’t look away once his eyes were set. With claws alone, he witnessed his companion tear through armor as though it was meaningless, a mere hindrance to access the tender flesh beneath, saw fingers force their way into the ribs of one man, shredding his abdomen from sternum to septum, unnecessary organs spilling out onto the plush carpet that was once such a beautiful shade of mint green. Sharp fangs - which had countless times already been in his own flesh - tore mercilessly into the neck of a man rendered without limps, the holes where his arms should be weeping sanguine jets of life liquid. The brutality was unnecessary, Kirin knew, it could be accomplished in a much cleaner manner - the individuals did not even need to die, let alone be torn apart. Yet shredded they were, severed and used as macabre decorations.

The sword did not seem to give him as much satisfaction as his own hands, Kirin noted in a disturbing observation, and when it broke against the sword of a guard attempting to defend his fallen comrade, it was discarded without any thought to claim another. And like a monster, in truth, when a blade met its mark against his own shoulder, the beautiful disaster that was Angeles grasped it with his own hands and yanked it out before thrusting his fingers into the throat of the offender. Halfway through, the horrified onlooker realized that those left were no longer attempting to fight back, but their shouts had turned to cries for mercy. Two threw down their weapons and knelt before the red head, and one attempted to run away. The poor soul fleeing got tripped up in the intestines of one of his comrades, however, and fell into the slush of gore that was now the floor.

He screamed, and the sound made Kirin flinch away. When his eyes returned to the scene, the screaming had been silenced by Angeles breaking his neck. To the two who knelt down, the brute was more sedate in his dealings. He stood before them, a thing of nightmare, and seemed to make his decision. Picking up a pistol, he inquired in a voice that did not belong in such a scene, one which was curious with an innocence that seemed ridiculous, “How does this work?”

The guards both jumped, glancing at each other, before the bravest of the pair spoke up. “Y-you just... Once it is loaded, you just aim and pull the trigger.” Inspecting the weapon as a child might a new toy, Angeles nodded in understanding before holding the pistol properly.

“What a curious innovation. Who made this?”

The question made both men look very startled, and one looked at the other before the shyer one volunteered in response, “Th-that... Is made by the Unlair family, o-of course.”

There was a soft tsk of displeasure before the shot was fired. Aimed almost absently, Angeles fired into the skull of the first man who spoke, causing a red circle to mark his forehead. He fell forward into the pool of blood with an audible, sickly wet sound, and the other man did not even have time to scream before Angeles was upon him, his fangs in his neck, draining him in a fashion Kirin had witnessed more than once already since the start of their escape.

And then, it was over.

Each footstep caused a disgusting squish to fill the air, and the sudden return of Angeles’ attention onto himself, who was still on his knees, on the floor, caused an instinctive retreat for the smaller nobleman, pulling himself back behind the corner to give him time to find composure. If he had wanted to run away, his opportunity was now lost. The thought only now occurred to him. In too little time at all, the crimson monster was standing next to him again, still dripping with blood - though Kirin knew this time it was not his own. He felt a mixture of emotions at this fact, and he did not try to identify why they made his heart pound and stomach ache.

“You are trembling. If it was frightening, you should not have watched.” The voice was back to that soft, alluring tone that had first made his heart flutter, and Kirin only now considered how easily one’s tone can affect the listener. How the voice is such a powerful device for eliciting a reaction from your partner. Dark amethyst eyes looked up, taking in the gruesome vision of his companion, and he realized that he was, in fact, trembling.

He did not know when it had started, nor could he seem to stop, now conscious of it. The ominous outline of Angeles against the bright lighting of the hall was such a stark contrast to the Angeles he had grown accustomed too - sensual, shadowed, basked in such a subtle glow his every rivet was a mystery to be explored and discovered. Displayed so clearly, the drenching of blood causing every inch of his once pristine clothing to cling to his body, to accentuate its terrifying perfection, Kirin could not help but think how very easily those hands could wrap around his throat, and the memory of such flooded his mind with a new found panic, images of the rampage morphing in his mind to imaginations of his own demise, his own cries for mercy, his body limp and in pieces in the hands of his cruel would-be lover.

“Here, I was beginning to think you liked it,” Angeles spoke again, leaning down, ignoring the horror that had suddenly seized Kirin’s expression. Strategically, perhaps, he placed his arms on either side of the shorter immortal, pressing them against the wall, effectively creating a barrier that would need to be crossed for any hope of escape. The pounding in the raven haired man’s chest was undeniable, and he told himself it was from fear, knowing that any moment, if his partner wished it, he could be dead in an instant. “My face... Don’t you like to watch it? Can you tell me you did not feel anything... Here?”

The words were spoken softly now, Angeles just inches away from Kirin’s face, his breath hot, the scent of gore mixing with his own pheromone in an intoxicating combination that made Kirin’s stomach churn from the sudden shift in mood. One of Angeles’ hands moved, as well, to accentuate the full meaning of his words. Slender fingers attached to razor sharp claws trailed over to the slight man’s waist, curling against his abdomen before finding the path downwards, pressing a touch with firm meaning over his crotch. Color flushed his cheeks, an immediate response to such an incitement, and his stubborn nature was ruffled despite himself, “I-I would no-!”

Lips pressed against his own, the motion sudden but tender, silencing the excuse he had not even truly formed as the soiled immortal switched from one passion to another. Kirin could taste the acrid tang of blood, though it was foreign, unlike any flavor he had know - it was sweet, succulent, but made bitter as it started to dry, exposed to the air and souring. There was a brief, chilling thought that this is what his kind tasted like, before Angeles’ tongue pressed into his mouth and he could only think of how savory this man was.

He’d allowed paranoia to rule him once more, the fear of the unknown to drive him away. Accepting lack of control to such a degree was hard, terribly so, but this creature did not wish him harm. It was unfair to dwell upon the possibilities of when that changed, considering how much he currently felt he owed to this gorgeous man. So simply, he felt his body relent, his fear melt into the rising desire to indulge in a kiss from his murderous demon, and he lifted his arms to wrap around Angeles’ neck.

The relief was overwhelming, and it shocked him that, as his own tongue pressed against its invasive counterpart, his throat started to tighten. Moisture dampened his face, and it was not until he felt his partner retreat, breaking off the kiss, that he realized the crushing wealth of emotion that had mounted in his chest. Part of him, some irrational and paranoid part, had truly feared that he would be torn apart by a man who was drunk on the lust for blood. Another begrudgingly accepted that some part of him was oddly fascinated with that look of complete lack of inhibition, like a rabid animal lashing out for no reason than because it was possible. That some sick, twisted part of himself even relished that there was such a contrast between Angeles tearing into the neck of another, and the delicious passion enjoyed when he savored Kirin. But perhaps, most of all, was the relief that even now, when the noble felt so weak and pathetic, doing absolutely nothing but watching horror unfold, outside of their prison and in the light of day, Angeles felt desire for him still.

His vision blurred through the tears, and his pride was bruised with the realization that he, too, could display such an undignified self. Yet through that fuzzy vision, he witnessed those golden eyes widening with something akin to surprise, then those lips turning upwards into a teasing smile. Sighing faintly, the bloody mess of an immortal shifted once more, from a crouch back into a seated position, his arms wrapping around Kirin to pull him forward, into the other’s lap. So close, he felt the still wet blood, warm and sticky as it dried, saturate his own scrapes of clothing as he was pressed against the larger man.

The warmth of the embrace filled the noble, chasing away the shivers that had assaulted his frame, though the tears still flowed. He could not recall the last time he had cried - as a child, perhaps? - and for this reason, he was unsure how to make them stop. They were choking, and his chest felt smothering as it constricted, like an invisible snake was crushing his ribs. And then, there was something hot and moist on his cheek, dragging across his pallid flesh. Every breath was felt with such incredible intimacy, his made him shudder for an entirely different reason, realizing as the soft tissue dragged up, caressing his skin and lightly teasing his eyelid, that his terrifying brute was licking away his tears.

Nothing else really mattered. Not the smell of blood so strong it was nauseating, or the fact that just around the corner, there was a massacre of his kin. He couldn’t recall when he had become this way - perhaps when he was imprisoned for no real valid reason - but he accepted, for the first time, that he was hopeless. Whatever paranoia his mind attempted to concoct to dissuade him, the desire he felt was too strong. As Angeles licked his other cheek, Kirin pulled back just enough to break contact, then shifted to ensnare his partner in another kiss, his own tongue taking advantage of the slight ajar nature of Angeles’ lips to plunge into the depths of his mouth. He had memorized its dimensions long ago, the feel of the roof, the sharp edges of his teeth, and how to suckle just enough to make the man react and seek more.

This time, however, the crimson haired immortal withdrew, though the heavy state of his breath told the slighter creature it was not for lack of excitement. “If we do this here, it will be more trouble to get through that door later. Have patience, my minx. I’ll excite you more before this is through.”

Embarrassment possessed Kirin, strong and fast, but he bit back the instinctive reply rife with sarcasm, smothered his disappointment, and just kept hold of Angeles a moment longer, his amethyst eyes, still glossy with emotion, making a final plea that his pride wouldn’t allow him to vocalize. His partner was unmoved, though when his weight shifted, long legs finding themselves under him, he chose to heft Kirin up with him, rather than push him off. The balance that took was impressive, though the youth figured it was likely no feat at all for his enigmatic companion. A final caress was felt drifting down his back, cupping his rear in large palms before the taller of the male’s released the other, Kirin left bereft of emotions since too many had taxed him to this point.


	21. The Crimson King

Allowing himself to be swept up in the whims of his partner, he held his hand once more and followed him back into the hall of horror, though this time, did not feel much compassion for those that were ripped apart all around him. Instead, he simply felt disgust for the entrails that he was forced to trod through.

“Can you open this one, like the other?” It was such a casual thing to say, it almost made Kirin laugh. Almost.

“No. It is a deadlock. It can only be opened from the other side.”

“Such a troublesome device.”

It would have been more logical to walk away, to wait it out, since the throne room had limited supplies and therefore someone, at some point, would be coming out of there to replenish for whoever was inside. But by now, Kirin understood that Angeles was not a logical creature, but rather one of impulse and rash desire. Therefor, he was not at all surprised when the man lifted up his hand as if to push against the door. What surprised him, instead, was the act that followed.

Words spoken under breath, ones he heard but could not repeat, as if they floated in his ear and out the other. Such a dark tone. The air became heavy around them, and he felt as though he might be crushed beneath the sudden atmospheric pressure - and it all seemed very familiar. He looked up to witness the slight strain between Angeles’ brow, a scrunch that made his features seem no less devilishly handsome than before, though now more... Normal. And then, the pressure was released in a sudden, horrifying screech of metal tearing, a bang so loud he was sure he eardrums would burst from it - and the door was blown in.

For a man who was sure nothing knew would surprise him from his companion, he was left once again shocked. Magic was a dying art, primarily because few could learn it and fewer could master it. This was the first time he had ever witnessed it in his life, and from his understanding, it was not a gift immortals commonly could possess. But then, Kirin was already suspecting his companion was not a standard breed. His contemplation was interrupted by the scene before him.

Dragged behind Angeles, still holding his hand, they stepped past the ruined door, metal torn horrifically inward, and bore witness to the massive expanse of the thrown room, filled overwhelmingly with nobles and servants alike - most of which Kirin was familiar with. Several shrieked in surprise, and most shuffled inward, forming clusters like terrified cattle waiting for slaughter. It was a grand room, twenty feet high with a gilded, painted ceiling, a work of art to be sure. The marble floors had been donated from three different mines, a mix between soft blush tones, white and silver, all carved into an intricate pattern. The drapes of spring were on the walls, soft pastels to reflect the levity of the season, and several tables were placed around the line of the wall, holding every sort of vase and trophy, displaying the power of the royal family.

However, this was not the aura of a light day at court, where the nobles gathered around to converse with the king, to discuss their issues and hear his dictations. The mood was tense, as if everyone was holding their breath and waiting for the next pin to drop, praying they were not the one to drop it. The only chair in the room - deliberately so - was the throne that sat on the raised dais, the one where the king would sit above his countrymen. Since the reign of Jeffon, there was only the one chair, as he did not believe his queen should sit next to him, and had yet to officially name one.

He sat there now, and his expression was a mix of rage and shock when he looked down at the pair that dared to intrude upon his sanctuary. “What is the meaning of this?!” His voice was sharp, like nails against chalkboard, and Kirin recalled it had always been annoyingly grating, even as a child. The king was a year his brother’s senior, but they had still known one another in their youth, as all noble boys lived at the palace for some length of time.

Russet hair that curled rebelliously, a lanky disposition which was all limbs and height with little definition, he had never been the most appealing man at court, the king; but, being a prince heir apparent had its ways of making one completely egotistical, and few could say much against him. The loathing that had long festered for their worthless ruler was great, but years of training instinctively made Kirin move to kneel - but as his body lowered, he felt Angeles tug him slightly, disabling him from doing the motion proper. The man did not look back, but Kirin wondered what kind of expression he was directing at the king who would dare to command him. There was a feeling of dread, and he already thought he could understand how this situation would end.

His grip tightened with anxiety, and he felt Angeles squeeze him back. It made his heart flutter like a girl, and he hated himself for it.

“I heard you wished an audience with my friend, so I escorted him here,” Angeles spoke so fluidly, in that sweet tone, Kirin could see the immediate effect it had on everyone present, how their eyes widened at him, at the stark contrast between his vulgar appearance and the charisma in his words. Then, naturally, they turned to note Kirin.

“Lord Kirin! It is the young Lord,” a familiar voice said in the crowd to the left, though he could not distinctly say who it was.

“Who is that man with Lord Kirin?”

“Oh, the poor young Lord,” someone was almost sobbing. He knew that voice, but couldn’t place it.

“Silence!” the command from the King. The crowd was hushed instantly. “And who are you, to escort a prisoner to his execution? It appears you are quite the executioner yourself.” By now, a few must have seen the hall behind them, the king likely as well, but few were making comment of it. The clusters shuffled tighter together.

“How good of you to ask,” Angeles spoke, and there was a ring of amusement in his tone. He was having too much fun, Kirin thought with rising paranoia. “My name is Angeles, the last heir of the Moroth line. Your new king.”

At that, several people gasped, a few dared to laugh, and the king paled with unconcealed outrage. “You dare! I will have your head on a spike, and let that be the last of your line!”

It seemed ludicrous to threaten the man, even in rage. Perhaps the king was worse at reading a situation than an average individual, or maybe he had already been backed into a corner, and could do nothing else but lash out. Kirin couldn’t know for certain, but in an instant, the warmth of his hand was gone, his partner across the room, his hand around Jeffon’s neck. Green eyes widened in shock, and his hands lashed out to fight back, but his reach was insufficient. And, without exerting more energy than necessary to squash a bug, Angeles tightened his grip and punctured the royal jugular. No one moved an inch to help as blood burst forth, and a disgruntled sound of outrage garbled in his crushed windpipe. The body growing limp, another immortal destroyed as though they were made of glass, Angeles tossed it aside, allowing the lump of meat to roll down the stairs as he shifted about and took a seat on the thrown.

“Would anyone else like to disagree?” His smile was both charming and terrifying, and a few women broke out into hysteria. Their family, fortunately, were quick to move to their aid and silence them, since the sound seemed to catch Angeles’ attention in the darkest of ways, his golden eyes cold as ice as he peered over the crowd before him.

No one spoke out for a long while. Then, someone brave stepped forward - Lord Kenth, Kirin recognized, the palace historian. “The Moroth line died out several millennium ago - you could not possible bear their name. Where did you come from?” Instinctively, the young noble moved forward, the fear of retaliation bubbling up in his throat, but when Angeles answered, his voice was not harsh, but rather back to the casual conversation that seemed so ludicrous now.

“I have been imprisoned in the dungeons since the last Moroth sat upon this throne. You may check the records, if you are in disbelief, and also consult with the young Lord there - who seems to have the right idea that I may eat you if you are too impertinent again.”

Kirin blushed as attention turned upon him again, and also at the obvious reading of his actions to approach Kenth. He had never had any issues with the man, and it felt wrong to witness the death of someone he had known, had often considered a fond acquaintance, even if they were never friends. Then, someone had the sense to catch up to the reality of the situation. A young woman, blond curls cascading down from a style that must have been disrupted, garnet jewels shining against the platinum waves, rushed forward and grasped Kirin’s hand. Her sapphire eyes were sparkling with tears, and as the immortal gave her his full attention, he recognized her as Lyla, his sister’s fondest companion. She was the sort of petite, pretty young woman that Kirin had thought would make a good wife, though she was more an extension of his sister to him than prospective partner.

“Kirin!” She addressed him in a familiar manner that displayed her desperation, and it immediately stole his attention, made him realize that he had no idea what was happening now, why everyone had been gathered here in the first place. He felt a great and sudden concern. “Kirin! Your brother, you have to stop him! Riveh, she... So much has happened. I am so sorry!” Her emotion overwhelmed her, and she started to collapse, inciting the gentleman training he had been forced into, causing him to capture her slight form in his arms and hold her against him.

“I don’t understand - what about my brother? Which one?” His own voice was, surprisingly, steady. He almost sounded like himself.

Someone else stepped up to answer. Lord Brast, he registered briefly, his brain absently recalling the information he knew of the immortal; the family had lost its lands recently, but maintained their status based on funds from a recent venture overseas, but he was not personally acquainted with any of them. He was only an inch or so taller than Kirin himself, with chestnut hair and soft gray eyes. “The Unlairs have begun a full scale civil war. Your brother, Rahil, currently controls the capital - the gates of the palace have held for the past week, but we expect them to be breached any day now. That is why... His Majesty thought that the threat of executing you would be enough to cause him to withdraw.”

“And Riveh?” Kirin felt relief - his brother was alive, and doing well. He wondered how long it would have been before he had been rescued. Or, perhaps, he would have been killed for certain, just to make a point.

“S-she... She-!” Lyla could not make it out past her tears.

“Go see your brother. Please, my Lord.” Lord Brast reached out to take Lyla by the shoulders, and with a gentle tug, the sobbing woman moved from one male chest to the other, though this one she embraced with such earnest sorrow, her arms wrapping around him and her composure completely shattering, that Kirin suspected that the pair may be more intimate than his previous knowledge had suggested. Regardless, he understood the urgency in the other man’s tone, and turned to look for Angeles.

The man was no longer on the throne, but had already moved to loom uncomfortably close to Kirin - to find the presence so close when he turned around made him jump, and then he quietly cursed himself for not noticing. He had gotten very good at feeling the change in Angeles’ presence, how one could detect him with their senses rather than their eyes, but among the chaos he had not been paying attention. He looked up at the new ‘king’, a whole new set of questions bursting forth, but he drowned them all. “You’ll also explain later,” his tone was more demanding than he had expected, and it roused a grin from the now crusted with blood man.

“Perhaps,” was all he said, but when Kirin turned to leave, he added to the crowd, “Someone get this place cleaned up. And prepare chambers and clothes for myself and Lord Kirin.”

The young noble was not quite out the door yet when he realized that his partner was trailing him, and he looked back with eyes wide and questioning. Angeles simply tilted his head. What was more shocking, people were starting to move, to discuss between themselves, and someone was sending off for a servant. ‘Might makes right,’ Kirin thought bitterly as he turned his focus back on exiting the palace, finding some expedience now as his anxiety for his family reared its ugly head.


	22. Family Affairs

    When they were back in the hall, he could not help himself from trying to distract his mind and at the same time, satisfy some other curiosity. “You just staged a hostile takeover - aren’t you concerned, leaving them to prepare for you next time?”

     “None of them can kill me,” was the only answer he received, and it was enough to make him huff in exasperation. However, he had also begun to suspect something along those lines.

     “Why did you do that? If you were a king, why wouldn’t you tell me?”

     “Would it have mattered?” The question was very innocently put, but there was something cold in his tone that made Kirin walk faster - not as though he could outpace the brutish immortal.

     “It would have been a nice warning for what to expect!” There wasn’t really any reason to be as venomous as he sounded, but it was there, poison on his tongue, and he felt a treacherous writhing within him of rage he only now thought to feel. He had divulged enough about his own background, he should have been entrusted with something - anything - about Angeles. Instead, he knew only as much as every other noble, and did not even have the privilege of learning it first.

     Wait, was that what made him upset? He pushed that train of thought off the tracks, refusing to acknowledge it further.

     “But your face was very amusing to watch,” was the only response he got, and it was flustering enough that he did not attempt to make any more conversation as they left the palace. They did not encounter any more guards, thankfully, until they reached the gate. And, once there, Kirin rushed forward to prevent any confrontation, and spoke in the authoritative manner that his upbringing had honed within him.

     “Stand down. The King is dead - you don’t need to throw your lives away. Open the gate, and find Lord Rahil.”

     The shock on all of the guards was expected, and it took a while before any of them were willing to lower their weapon. However, both Kirin and Angeles were bloodied and battered, and these men were no doubt tired. Kirin could hear banging on the outside of the walls. The palace was built with the idea to be impregnable, reinforced by the most modern of technologies. The wall that surrounded it were tiered with three rings. A thirty foot wall guarded the palace proper in the style of a castle, though it had long been switch from stone to gilded metal and interwoven with reinforced gearwork. A small compound village surrounded it, which had a twenty foot wall. And then the capital beyond that, with a ten foot wall to keep the city commerce regulated. The impression seemed to be that his brother had crossed two of the three thresholds.

     One of the guards, a man who looked younger than Kirin, finally moved to open the gate. The others all looked unsure as he did, but none stopped him. These were not so loyal as the rest they had faced, Kirin decided, and further inspection showed him that they were all very young, likely new to the position. Perhaps placed here to be the first slaughtered. The massive gates, which he had never before seen closed, creaked open with arduous lethargy. Noise on the other side suddenly amplified, and he heard someone shouting “It’s opening, it’s opening!” as they ran the other way, the male voice growing progressively faint. When the massive metal gates finally parted, the sight before him was one of such relief, his knees gave out and he fell towards the ground, feeling lightheaded.

     Strong arms captured him short of the cobbled road, and hefted him up. Angeles, he realized as he turned to look up, the man once more wearing a poker face. “Lord Kirin!” someone shouted with such enthusiasm, he turned his gaze back to them. The soldiers of his family, a mix of humans and immortal alike, gathered on the other side. The blackened steel that was their uniform, with the embossed shield of his family on each chest. It was the sight of salvation, a true end to any danger he might have been in. Upon further analysis, he noted other family crests as well, those who had alligned with his own he suspected. And then, the crowd parted, and a man on a horse charged through the parting sea of people.

     Lord Rahil Unlair was a striking figure by any standard. The second brother of the noble house of Unlair, he was twin to Lysain though younger by about five seconds - though few could discredit him for that. Several inches taller than Kirin, with the same jet black hair and even darker eyes of cobalt blue, he was full where his younger brother was lanky. Military training had given him every virtue known to man, broad shoulders and toned flesh, a rugged exterior and a gaze that cut like knives. He exuded the effortless authority of a natural born leader, and possessed the sort of charisma that would make even a stranger bow to his suggestions. But, as all the men in their family, he had a handsome beauty, thickly lashed eyes, and a cold smile that made most swoon with distant envy.

     Dismounting before him, the severe stare of his elder brother moved over his unsightly condition, and then to the bloody mess that was his companion, and swiftly reached out to take Kirin’s arm and pull him away from Angeles. Disguising it as a hug, the man too a step back, speaking in the crisp, cold tones that came naturally to him, “Kirin... I thought you had been killed. Thank the ancestors.” There was concern in his tone, genuine and relief that invoked a sharp compassion in the shorter noble. Suddenly, the young man felt like he was five again, lost in the hedge maze, his brother having just found him. He reach up to return the hug, breathing in the familiar, husky aroma of his family, ignoring the grating nature of his armor against his barely concealed flesh. Rahil seemed to take note of that condition, for as soon as he released him from the embrace, he moved to unfasten the cloak that he was wearing, removing it only to drape the heavy material around his little brother.

     “Now, we must find Riveh,” his brother spoke with every seriousness, and wrapped his arm around Kirin’s shoulders, giving a sharp glare towards Angeles as he strode by with the smaller male. However, the tall brute would not be so easily overlooked. Reaching out, he grabbed Kirin’s hand and tugged him lightly, enough to dislodge his brother’s hold and drag him back into the arms of the blood encrusted creature. Lord Rahil turned around, surprised that such an action might be taken against him, but his expression was quickly nothing but impassive as he stared up at the unknown male. “Kindly remove yourself from my brother, good sir.” He practically spat out the forced formality, while around them the soldiers were moving in, the guards moving away, and the palace returning to life.

     “No,” Angeles said simply, meeting the cold stare with his own icy gaze, and Kirin felt oddly flattered by the word. However, his excitement over such a matter was secondary to his need to know what, exactly, was going on with his little sister.

     “Brother, this is Angeles. He is the only reason I am alive. Can we please just find Riveh? What is wrong with her?” Surmising their situation with as little detail as he could, the youth managed to shift attention away from himself and convince his brother to move on. The tattered pair followed.

     The sound of his brother’s voice was strained, and his steps were swifter than they needed to be, the sort of stride that Kirin had to trot to keep pace with. Bitterly, he considered that Angeles and his sibling were too alike in this matter.

     “She was taken hostage shortly after yourself. Kidnapped off the road as she was returning to the safety of home. The King, he... If he had hostages, we couldn’t do anything against him. He forced her to marry him, and last month, she learned she was with child. Riveh...” His voice was forcibly cold and detached, a technique Kirin had also learned to guard his emotions. “Riveh cut the child out of herself, and committed suicide.”


	23. The Dead Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early update! Yay.

     The whole world seemed to fall away. Kirin’s breath stopped, his heart clenching in his chest, and he would have toppled over if not for Angeles holding him upright. “No,” he muttered faintly. “No, she can’t...” In his mind, there was Riveh - such a beautiful young woman. She was so very delicate, a head shorter than himself, with a body naturally inclined to slender arms and waist. Her hair was the same onyx of his own, but always seemed more lustrous, and though it was not naturally curled, she was most fond of that style. The first time he had seen her with curlers in her head, he had laughed so hard she threw a book at him. Her aim was spot on, and had given him a sore temple for a few hours.

     When she had debuted at court, he remembered how protective he realized he was over her, seeing all the disreputable men that flocked to her side, that coveted her beauty, her soft smile. But then, she was also so very witty, as clever as their elder brothers, and her voice... She would sing with Kirin often. The image of her being taken by the king - forced into his bed, to subject to that man in that way, to bear his child - rage suddenly overflowed within him, and he wanted Jeffon alive again so he could kill him over and over again. He wished Angeles had been more brutal, had torn him apart like the guards, that he had screamed and begged for mercy. It had been too swift, too unjust for what his sister was subjected to.

     “How long... Have I been imprisoned?” His voice was not his own. It sounded detached, and he realized that he was only really moving forward because Angeles had a hand around his waist, half carrying him down the hallway of the palace. He couldn’t remember when they had entered it, and his mind refused to recognize any of the rooms.

     “Almost a year and a half.”

     So long. It had taken so long for his family to reach him. Ah, he bet they wouldn’t have dared, not with his sister also being held. A month ago... This had all started a month ago. He didn’t know how long he had been with Angeles, but suddenly he felt great guilt. While his sister was being raped and tormented, he had likely been enjoying the arms of his marvelous stranger. It was enough to make him find the strength to walk on his own, to pull away from that same stranger’s hold. There was no protests made.

     When they turned the next corner, an older woman wearing black was waiting outside a door. By the simplistic in the material she wore, and the style, Kirin assumed she was a servant, though that was odd for humans in the palace. At the sight of them, she took to a kneel, her voice harsh when she spoke, “Lord Rahil, Lord Kirin. They told me to expect you.” Rahil did not pause to pay her any mind, but pushed through the door behind her.

     The following pair did much the same, and so the woman was forced to tail behind them, her voice coming again as she offered, “We... Tried to preserve her. But the doctor could not restore her. I am... So sorry. She was in my charge, but I didn’t see...” Tears were spilling forth, but Kirin could not manage to summon anything but hatred for this creature, who dared to admit her own ineptitude and plead guilt when faced with individuals who had lost someone so precious to them.

     Riveh had been the first girl born in his family for three generations. As such, she was their precious princess, doted on by every single one of them, but he had thought, once, that they were special. She had always understood him more than his elder brothers.

     The woman upon the bed was not his little sister. Rather that full, flush cheeks, this husk was pallid and cold. Her hair, once so shimmering it was like satin, was dull around her head, though someone had brushed and cleaned it. The white bedspread all around her seemed unsuitable, for he knew that she liked vibrant colors - pink and blue, red and emerald. Her lips were pale, instead of the rouge she liked to wear, and the gown she was cinched into was not in the style he knew she favored. It was shocking to think that she was not being cared for by people who knew her, but rather strangers who had prepared her out of obligation, rather than love.

     “This.... The dead sleep?” The voice was his brother, who had approached her already. His long fingers were wrapping around her frail little hands, and the pain in his voice was almost completely masked by the cold detachment he feigned.

     “It.... Took three days to find her body. The blood she had lost... The damage was too much. The doctor preserved her, but says she will never recover from this state. I am.... Sorry.”

     “Go away!” It was Kirin’s voice, though he couldn’t remember saying it. Hearing it was like hearing someone else, the sound distant but loud, demanding - stricken. He was at her side before he recalled moving at all, kneeling down and claiming her other hand for his own. The tears came bitterly now, his whole being filled with a sudden loathing, a hatred, that he had allowed this - perhaps he could have prevented it, perhaps he could have convinced Angeles to break out sooner. Would this have happened if he had not been such a stupid, foolish child?

     The woman left, though he did not realize until he heard the door closing. This time, he did feel the shift of that strong presence, and knew that his companion had moved to stand behind him. The ancient, carnage covered creature quietly watching. When he spoke, his voice was too cold - it hurt Kirin in a new way, one which only exasperated the guilt that was suffocating him.

     “Was this someone precious to you?”

     His sobs were silent, but the question caused him to look up, to reveal his shameful face. Angeles’ own became contorted in something that resembled disapproval to the younger immortal, but his voice was somehow understandable when he spoke, “What kind of fucked up question is that? This is my little sister!” Angeles’ brow furrowed all the more, but Kirin wouldn’t look at him longer. The shame was too strong. He looked back upon the corpse of his precious baby sibling, and brought her hand up to his lips. Her flesh was so cold, it broke his heart all over again.

     “Don’t you dare touch her!”

     The sharp tone of his brother brought his focus back, and Kirin looked up to see that Rahil was holding Angeles’ wrist, his face furious, flushed red. A new fear shot through him, and instinctively he tried to stop his brother, “W-wait, Rahil, d-don’t!”

     It was too late. A flick of his hand, and the larger Unlair lord was pushed aside, surprised by the force. However, unlike Kirin, this one was more durable and quick to adapt. His legs were under him almost instantly, but it was still not quick enough to prevent what happened next. Using his own claw to slice open his wrist, the tall crimson haired male held the wound over his sister, allowing the trail of life fluid that flowed out to fill her mouth, which he held open with his other hand. Shocked, Kirin stood up, but did not stop him, merely questioning, “W-what are you doing?!”

     Rahil was back, though, and shoved him away with a vengeance that burned like hot iron. He must have mustered a great deal of strength, for the murderous monolith staggered back, turning a golden glare onto the petulant man. It was a look Kirin had seen too much recently, and it forced the young man to speak up again, “That is my brother, Angeles!” The reminder made the violent creature click his tongue bitterly, but he saw the look adjust to something less malicious and felt relief. Then, he heard a soft, all too familiar cough.

     “K...Ki...Kirin?” The voice was so faint, a human likely would have missed it. But it was as loud as sirens to the raven haired immortal, and made him turn with shock to see his little sister opening her lilac eyes, something that was so like his own, but fairer still. The relief was overwhelming, and felt by more than just himself. Rahil forgot about Angeles altogether as he moved to tend to Riveh, as the shock faded into overwhelming joy, and then he shouted for someone - anyone - to get the doctor.

     The young Unlair lord folded her hands in his own, and knelt by her side, pressing the fingers to his lips over and over again. Gradually, he felt her flesh warm. Though her consciousness seemed to fade, her chest moved once more, up and down, steadily revitalizing organs too long dormant. The guilt was still there, but it was suddenly twisted, corrupted, and he was unsure how else he should process it. As he knelt there, kissing his sibling brought back to life, he could not withhold the swell of gratitude that filled him up, the awe and the fear and something else forcing him to look back at the enigmatic man, the immortal that was more than that, and speak to him in a soft, tender voice that seemed new to him yet again. “Thank you, Angeles.”


	24. A Clean Slate

Everything moved swiftly from there. The miracle that was the waking of Riveh got swept up in the drama and fanfare that was the dethroning of Jeffon. The court was filled with new gossip, that the Unlairs had conspired the whole thing, that the claiming of an old blood heir to the throne was a treacherous ploy to grasp at power, or that it was amazingly ingenious. But within several hours, the palace was returning to normal. How adaptive immortals were.

It was only now, that he was assured Riveh would be recovering, as she was set up for blood transfusions that were supposed to have her back to normal within a few weeks, that Kirin felt safe to leave her side. Angeles had finally left his some time ago, though not before Rahil, who was off to make the necessary defensive arrangements. He was sure those two would be at one another’s throats before long, but he lacked the energy to care about it just yet. The overall assault on his senses left him feeling very numb, but mildly happy. His family was safe. He was not imprisoned. The king who had caused such strife was dead.

A new one might be even more problematic.

That was a whole different matter that he did not want to consider too deeply. It was like a bad dream, thinking that the man he had spent so long with in the dungeon was some long lost heir to the throne. That couldn’t be - he wouldn’t have been imprisoned if that were the case. Yet, at the same time, part of him was utterly unsurprised that on top of being practically a god - as Kirin had now decided that creature was, a god or demon - he would also be royal. It was extremely damaging to the young noble’s pride, while simultaneously being thrilling.

Wandering down corridors he had been through a hundred times before, the young lord did not know where to turn. What he did know was that he was beginning to reek of decay, courtesy the blood that was sticking to him, and his clothes were less than acceptable attire. His first order of business was to fix this, and since it seemed order was restored and he was not presently in danger - all the soldiers of his family replacing the guards in the palace - he felt safe enough to do so. He found a servant, who directed him to the butler, who directed him to his quarters.

Once there, he had a bath drawn up, inspecting the change in his scenery. It was not the usual part of the palace his guest quarters were; that was along the south wing. This was to the east, which he found peculiar. Unwilling to argue, he accepted it. It was a sprawling chamber with a large, king sized poster bed, and it took great resilience to not dive into it now that he was feeling reassured. Never did he know how amazing a luxury a bed was until he was deprived it for so long. His back had grown accustomed to the harshness of the floor, but longed for the comfort he had always known. There was a sitting room attached, as well as a large dressing room and attached bath. It took some time for it to be filled, and when he stepped into the chamber, he understood why.

In the style of a communal bath, it was more a pool than tub, sprawling the length of a marble square room at least twenty feet wide. The tub took up the better portion of that, with a walk distance all around it. Four pillars marked each corner, ornately designed in a style that had been very popular during the reign of King Richard of the Raesh. The vine caricature were inspired by nature, he knew, but he had personally always thought they were too surreal. He had shed his clothes, waiting for the bath, and now shed the plush robe that he had honestly felt guilty about wearing, considering he was now arguably grungy.

For the first time in too long, he finally also saw himself in the mirror. Though he had always been a slender male, he noted now that what muscle definition he had once possessed was atrophied, the diet he had maintained unable to keep up with the nutrition his immortal form demanded. Or perhaps it was the fact he had also, for some time, begun sharing what little nutrition was available to him with Angeles. Either way, it left him far more fragile appearing than he should have, his physique disgusting even to himself. His skin, which had always been a beautiful cream, was ghastly pale, his face hollowed and gaunt. His eyes possessed an apathy that he knew was not feigned, and his hair lacked the shine that it had always boasted. It was longer now, he reflected, the raven locks falling around his shoulders, his bangs threatening his vision. Because of his color, the two dark beauty marks that rested beneath his left eye were all the more prominent, while his lips were cracked and scarred. He wondered if those brutish kisses were to blame, but then decided it didn’t matter.

When he finally set foot into the water, the heat of it was overwhelming. Reflexively, he withdrew, having grown too accustomed to the chill of the underground spring. Yet, he craved the warmth again, knew that it would relax every inch of his body, and desperately needed such a thing in his life. His body was sore, and his heart exhausted. Moving into the pool again, this time he let himself enjoy the sear that caused his skin to bloom red from contact, and waded into the deepest part of the tub, which came up to his thighs, before sitting down. Submerging, the feeling of being completely engulfed was positively sublime, and aided in allowing his mind to let go of the pesky, overwhelming notions of the day.

Gasping for air, he lifted his face out of the water, finding it a rather foolish thing considering the life altering events of the day. And then, he shivered, sensing something familiar in the air before he heard the voice that always made him acutely aware of his attraction to it.

“How cruel, coming to bathe on your own when I have been waiting so patiently.”

Turning around, he saw the vision of his god of death, still covered in blood that was now very dry and had, in parts, flaked off. Embarrassment flushed his face darker than the steam forced it, for that figure was also stark naked, a pile of clothes at his feet indicating this was a new predicament. He had seen the man nude a dozen or more times, but this was the first in such proper lighting. And compared to his own assessment of his state, this man was hardly less in his grandeur than he had ever been. Solid muscle, hair that was terribly clotted with blood, a thick member that was - thankfully - not presently aroused. Kirin felt acutely aware of himself, but he did not feel that all too familiar need to run away.

Instead, he held out his hand and spoke in a cool, plain voice, finding his practiced aloofness a good use, “How could you stay in that state? Come in, and I will help __you__  clean this time.” Such an invitation was shameful, but he accepted the fact that he was just this sort of creature now, one who coveted the body of another.

Angeles did not object, but rather waded into the water with him. There was something undeniably and indefinably erotic about the way a body disappears into water, watching the ripples that a form creates fill the liquid, the way the image becomes contorted beneath the surface. At least, this was what Kirin thought as he watched it happen, the steaming water consuming the body of his crimson monster. Impatience belied him, and he shifted to meet the man, reaching out for his hands to pull him down and in even further. The other immortal accepted without complaint, his expression inscrutable once more.

“What have you been doing?” Kirin asked casually as he lifted his hands up to claim Angeles’ hair, gently working it within the water.

“Making arrangements.”

The vague nature of the answer, as always, caused some measure of frustration in the shorter man. “For?” he pressed, despite himself.

“The coronation, security, state of affairs. If it is done swiftly enough, perhaps no more useless people will need to die.”

The reminder of that made Kirin withdraw involuntarily, though he covered it up as a necessity for retrieving soap. Obtaining such from a catty on the edge of the pool, as well as a wash cloth, he returned with practiced ease and continued the conversation, “Do I call you ‘Your Majesty’ now?”

“I won’t deny you reasons to be punished.” There was a sly grin on his lips that gave away the jest in those words, though the young noble was vexed, yet again, by the constant ambiguity his companion possessed. However, seeking to play along, he pressed the wash cloth against his partner’s shoulder, beginning the slow, deliberately careful manner of cleaning him.

“Will that be a public punishment, or private?” His hand became preoccupied with finding the lines of Angeles’ body. When he scrubbed, he was rewarded with witnessing the olive shade of skin bloom with rosy abrasion, and delighted in the reaction by his hand. The rest of the blood was easily removed, and he was surprised to see that there was not a single scar upon the perfectly chiseled physique. Though his mind remembered with terrifying accuracy each place he had been punctured, looking at him now betrayed not the slightest trace of anything. It was almost disappointing, as he felt he was unable to kiss away any pain.

That was a perverse train of thought.

“That will depend upon the transgression. I think I would enjoy both.” At this statement, Angeles’ hand found its way around Kirin, sliding down the smooth expanse of his back, seeking the flesh within the water, curling digits around his rump. Not content simply to caress, he began to gently massage the plump portion of his body, fondling with suggestive care, his fingers occasionally threatening that rear hole that he had, not so long ago, had his fill of. It was a painful memory, but Kirin’s body reacted honestly, the sensual motion invoking a lust within him that seemed to easily incited by this man.

“Don’t... Public? I would not forgive you for that,” Kirin managed somewhat breathlessly, and then found himself drawn flush against his partner, a sardonic grin on the older man’s face. Practically carried, the crimson creature moved back to the opening of the pool, sitting in the more shallow water so that both of their torsos tasted the crisp air above the warm bath. “W-what?” Kirin questioned lightly, surprised by the sudden repositioning. His answer was a cup of red liquid brought before his face.

“As much as I would like to ravish you, you are too pale. You have not eaten. Drink,” Angeles spoke in a tone that was more demand than caring, but Kirin was left wondering if the plate with the wine glass had been there the whole time, or if a servant had snuck in while he was... Preoccupied. He supposed it did not matter. Smelling the liquid, he recognized it as blood - human blood, not some animal. It was such a relief, and suddenly he was very aware of his body’s urgency, need for the fresh liquid. Had he always been starving?

He sipped the liquid, and cringed, finding it too rich flowing down his throat. He fought back a gag, and then paled, a realization shattering his noble pride all over again. If he drank it too quickly, his body would reject it - it was too decadent. Like a starved animal that could not gorge on fresh meat without regurgitating, he would have to slowly allow himself the heady, robust liquid, and that was such an act of weakness in front of this unbearably perfect individual that he suddenly wanted to get up and leave, hide, and pretend the problem would go away through sheer force of will.

Instead, he feigned to drink it slowly on purpose, attempted to keep his gag reflex from showing, and carried on the conversation, “Somehow, it seems you are spoiling me, when in fact it should be the other way around.” Growing more serious, he shifted, spreading his legs and straddling Angeles’ lap properly, curling his arm up and around the larger male’s neck. “I don’t know if I can ever thank you for what you did... Or if I can ever understand how you did it... But I will try.”

“Is that a proposition?” There was a husky quality to the normally velvety voice that made Kirin shiver.

“Maybe.”

“Finish your drink, and then show me the extent of your gratitude.”

Biting his lip, the young lord felt a throb of desire between his legs, encouraged by the hand that still kneaded his rear, the adventurous finger that threatened to plunge into his hole. Nothing for it, he decided, and downed the drink in his impatience. Immediate regret filled him as his stomach threatened to churn it right back up, but through an impressive degree of will, he kept it down. Setting the cup to the side, he hid whatever expression he may have been making by pressing his still blood tinged lips against his companion’s.

Until meeting this man, he had never understood how people could become addicted to sex. How a kiss could make the body burn with such a need that there was nothing else to do but quench it. To know that it only took a look, an impression from one who made the heart throb with need, to desire to drown in that lustful sensation. Now, he did not understand how he had lived life up until now never knowing the true sweetness of a kiss, the pleasure of grinding his body against another. The fact that he had discovered all of this with a man was only mildly disconcerting - the actual man himself was more problematic.

But he did not care for such as he plunged his tongue into Angeles’ mouth, as his fingers entangled the sanguine hair that he still hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed washing. His other hand moved, slipped in between their wet bodies, slender fingers curling finding both hard, aroused shafts and helping to press them together, his hand rubbing against each. Devilishly, his counterpart capitalized on this same moment to plunge his finger into the softened entrance behind him, pressing between the sphincter and exploring the yielding insides. The sudden invasion caused Kirin to gasp out, and this was swallowed mercilessly by the insatiable lips of the same demon that had stirred it.

The memory of their last joining was quick to rear its ugly head in his mind, the pain that followed as the thick member was forced into him, utterly unprepared. His heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and anxiety, but he was disinclined to pull away. And this felt different - it was strange, and concerning. The invasion of his body was violating and exhilarating, and the single slender digit quickly had a companion, pillaging into his depths. The assaulting duo explored deeper, daring to press against the soft lining of his inner wall until they hit something that caused a sudden pulsation of pleasure to ripple through him, spiking his already excited form and resulting in a sudden burst of his seed as the waves of ecstasy spilled through his body.

Quivering and shamed, considered how quickly the end result was met, the young noble pulled away in a pout, glancing down to see that Angeles was still ready and eager. And very much not finished, as an additional finger invaded his derriere. The sound that exited Kirin was a mix between gasp and moan, enough to make his whole face grow even darker than it currently was with embarrassment. Feeling the need for vengeance, his hand moved with renewed vigor against the rigid length of his partner, slick fingers seeking out the most sensitive regions, teasing the tip that oozed with expectant moisture before he griped the expanse tightly.

“That... Should be enough,” Angeles’ voice made him shiver, the rasp such a seductive sound that he became very conscious that he shouldn’t let another soul ever get the chance to experience it. That was a shocking thought, but he did not have time to process what it truly meant. Manipulated as easily as if he were a doll, those thick arms engulfed him and shifted him off of Angeles’ lap, over against the floor next to the bath while his partner stood up, pressing his fingers deeply into the hole once more and inciting another treacherous sound.

“An-Angeles,” he gasped out, looking back at the man, his own eyes smoldering with barely bridled lust. A large hand pressed down on his back, the other withdrawing from its exploration only to pull apart his cheek in a lewd display of his ass twitching, expectant. The expression he wore was something terribly perverse, the faint color of excitement in his cheeks, the way his wet hair clung onto his neck and shoulders. The sadistic smile that was both charming and terrifying. Briefly, Kirin felt the fear twist his stomach with anticipation, and then there was a sudden, swift thrust.

A cacophony of sensations bloomed within the him, the pressure stretching his insides until he was sure that he would burst, forcing its way within his deepest regions and inciting the most exquisite pleasure imaginable - his whole body spasmed, threatening to collapse beneath his partner, the tendrils of ecstasy strong enough to surprise his lower region by eliciting a sudden ejaculation. It was positively mortifying, the sound that escaped his throat something foreign, like a moaning beast in heat, and it brought such a deep shade of flush to his face - was it darker, because he had just fed? - that the man immediately hunched his shoulders and bowed his head, attempting to hide the expression. Giving Angeles the satisfaction of this moment, while well deserved, made him feel too pathetic even as a form of gratitude. To make matters worse, he could feel his skin trembling, waiting, expecting even more - begging for the throbbing member that had impaled him to move, to drive him wild.

His body and mind had become shockingly shameful.

“You seem delightfully better adjusted to this. How tightly you clench - what an exquisite creature you are.” The words were startling simply by their nature, the voice such a suitable accompaniment to the rest of the sensations that Kirin was at a complete loss for reply. Bringing to mind his own actions, he could only tense all the more around the stiff rod still firmly in place, his body trembling beneath the onslaught that refused to give him reprieve - and as if to exasperate the situation further, and make him all the more thoroughly shamed, Angeles took hold of his outer thigh and twisted his body around. Throwing off his balance, the slight man barely managed to brace himself from falling against the cold marble edge of the bath as his brutish companion manipulated his leg upwards, stretching across his chest and onto his shoulder.

Fire was raking against his body, burning him to the core, and yet he couldn’t deny the part of him that was begging for more. It was painful, how his legs were spread, revealing his manhood in its sullied, twitching state, already hard and eager for another round - but the pain simply melded with the pleasure, no doubt corrupting the young immortal more and more in his lust for this beast in man’s flesh. Wide violet eyes stared with a mix of surprise and desire into their golden counterparts, and the intensity within those depths made him shiver, falling back against the cold surface of the floor, moistened by the splashing they were making.

The contrast between the heat of where their bodies touched and joined and the crisp, smooth stone beneath him caused further stiffening of his body, his breath catching in his lungs, expectant and anxious all at once.

“No good - how can anyone be gentle and patient when you look like this?” His grin was ravishing, though he had seen it before - it resembled a bit too much the expression he had made earlier today, when tearing apart the guards. Kirin’s stomach knotted. “Ah, relax a bit or I won’t be able to move. You’ll eat me right up,” hot fingers moved to stroke and caress the pale surface that was the young noble’s skin, those same digits that had so easily stolen the precious lives of his own kind. How easily they might shred his own - would Angeles make this same expression while he did so? The thoughts were dizzying, perhaps motivated by the brief moment of static between the pair, and they were easily disrupted when two fingers targeted his nipple, twisting too harshly, making him gasp out with alarm.

And then Angeles was thrusting again - it was agonizing and delicious all at once. The way his body rebelled and relished every withdraw, releasing the pressure that threatened to make him mad and sick and ecstatic all at once, before forcing his way back in with damning force, merciless against a body likely unprepared from such brutality. It was too much, too full, too hard, too hot - yet somehow, Kirin’s hips were catching the rhythm, writhing beneath the force and moving of their own volition to meet it. Filled to the brim anew with each breath, his voice could not be contained, although he was quite sure the sounds exiting it were not his own, but the result of some enchantment his devilish lover had placed upon him.

There was something dangerously erotic with the expression one makes when climax is reached, the way the pleasure corrupts the features, the tension and elation joining in a divine moment of pure bliss which cannot be hidden from the world no matter how hard one might try. Kirin had never realized it before now, before he had been able to bare witness to the event on a face as frightfully alluring as Angeles’, but now he cherished the moment, coveted it, used it in his own perverse way to reach his own fulfillment from the stimulation and gratification of his partner’s. He had come to recognize certain regularities in it - the way that Angeles’ skin flushed, just slightly, in a manner that had never happened to display embarrassment or shame. The slight crease to his brow, the way his lips parted in a faint pant that could not be heard above Kirin’s own riotous breath and moaning. But it was in the eyes that it was the best, the most sensual, how they smoldered darkly, turning a lush shade of amber and burned into Kirin unflinchingly.

It was only after the fact that the young man realized having semen flooding his rectum was terrifyingly stuffing, and vexing in the aftermath. Such a thing to contemplate only after the waves of pleasure that assaulted him anew were allowed to pass, his body trembling beneath Angeles, his back sore from banging against the marble so consistently. Sweat and seed made his torso stick, and he cried out in surprise as he felt Angeles withdraw from his body fully, arching his back and gasping as the sensation of that hot, slick liquid began to squish within his insides, slowly dripping down onto his thighs and into the water.


	25. No Promises

When he attempted to sit up, his lower back screamed in protest, and he remembered again how easily his red haired lover had dismembered their kind, a fact that made his stomach turn over considering. “You recall how I said I wouldn’t break?” he gasped out, his voice light with the lingering tingling that still clung to his flesh. “I take it back. Let’s not test the theory, hm?”

A warm chuckle was his reply, and any trepidation within his chest was immediately forgotten, chased away by that sweet sound that had his already rapidly beating heart fluttering provocatively. Embarrassment for this flooded him, since he was quite sure the reaction would be easily known to the man who caused it.

“We must simply work on your endurance.”

Nevertheless, thick arms wrapped around the pallid creature, lifting him up and placing him back in the warmth of the bath, which helped greatly to chase away the chill from his back and soothe his lower half. Amethyst orbs glanced up, inspecting the satisfaction apparent on Angeles now, and Kirin could not deny his own, allowing it to briefly consume him. Reaching a hand up, his slender fingers curled around the firm jawline and smooth cheek of Angeles, delighting in the feel of that skin before he leaned up and coaxed his partner down into a soft, tender kiss. Without the fire of unsated passion, he parted his lips and slipped his tongue into Angeles’ mouth, savoring the flavor of the man, gently and leisurely indulging the act with great care. The arms holding him tightened in response, pressing his slight frame into the harsh perfection of his captor, and he felt his own move up to ensnare Angeles’ neck.

 There was still a thick aroma of blood and death on the man, but it mingled with his own natural perfume in such an intoxicating way that Kirin could not complain about it. If anything, it added a harshness to the allure of his god-like counterpart that made him all the more irresistible. When at last the pair broke apart, the noble capitalized on this rare moment, sharing in this intimacy as he began to work at washing those long crimson locks of hair.

“So… Is the Moroth line your family?” He was unsure whether he would get a response or an evasion, but he allowed the question to fall casually between the pair regardless. Shortly, the thickly velvet tones of his contented companion answered.

“Yes, they were.”

“Are you…. Actually an heir to the throne?” His fingers worked up a lather one area at a time, taking great attention to nearly each strand of hair.

“No. I am its King.” There was almost a coldness to that sentence, but then Angeles began to allow his fingers to absently stroke Kirin’s back, the soft repetitive gesture chasing away any spark of anxiety that might have sprung to life in the wake of the other’s icy demeanour.

“How did you end up… Down there?”

“I would rather not discuss it.”

Kirin blinked, a bit surprised, but then felt a bloom of pleasure of a different sort muddle his stomach. It was the first time he had been directly denied by this man, and he felt that said something pleasant rather than offensive.

“Then… How about - what are we? The two of us?” He swallowed hard, preparing himself for the answer, and was able to stave off most of his fears by focusing so fully on the job he had set up for himself.

“Two men of questionable good standing in immortal society?” There was a levity in the tone that made Kirin laugh, despite himself for being dissatisfied by that evasion.

“You know what I mean.”

“Perhaps. ‘We’ are nothing, but you are mine.”

Tilting his head inquisitively, the smaller creature couldn’t help but question the subject further. “Then you are nothing to me?”

“That is a question better answered by yourself. Why the sudden interest, little minx?” The casual levity in the voice caused Kirin to bristle slightly, and he couldn’t really fathom why. There was something tight pressing on his chest, and in an attempt to escape it, he leaned back slightly and peered up at the enigmatic beast, having finished the last of his hair. The water around them had a faint rouge tinge in it.

“I simply wish to prepare myself for whether you are going to go off and sleep with anyone else.” He attempted to sound aloof, but it came out irate. Internally, he cursed his lack of control.

“Would that upset you?”

“Ye -,” the reply bubbled up swiftly, and he caught himself before it turned vocal. His expression souring, the male debated for a few more moments before he stated, “Possibly.” Best to leave it ambiguous, he decided.

“Then keep it from happening. I do not value promises, and am not making any to you. If you desire something, you must grasp it and make it happen for yourself. To maintain a monopoly, you must be willing to work for it.” There was a coldness in the tone again, one which made Kirin shiver despite being enveloped in the warm waters of the tub. His emotions felt volatile, to have flown so high, and now were crashing down. Desperate, he wanted to avoid the feeling of loss, of dejection, of allowing what he wanted to escape through his fingers. Visions of horror, a different one from death and decay, haunted his mind’s eye - the beautiful peacocks of court all flocking around his precious monster, vying for affection, attention, stealing him away in dark corners of the ballroom, writhing beneath him as Kirin himself just had. He felt color drain from his features, his whole body growing still.

It wasn’t too late, some small part of him coaxed. This man wasn’t worth clinging onto, it begged. Let go now, before you fall. Before being abandoned leaves you a husk that will never be filled again.

He could go back to his life. Resume school, his violin, visit his family, find out what had become of them. Play his part as the little brother, the doting one, the one who no one expected anything from, since his elders were accomplished enough to go around. But… That felt wrong. After being alone in the dark, being ashamed, being violated, being touched, it was as though Kirin Unlair was a foreign skin, and he was just playing the part until he could shed it. Into what? He wondered, but could not say.

But he wanted to find out - and could not bring himself to let go.

If he wished to possess this creature for himself, then he decided he’d have to ensure there was nothing left Angeles could desire. “Then you’ll be mine too,” he said with a confidence he had forgotten he could feel. A beautiful, slender brow arched over those golden eyes, but the man just smiled in response, the expression ambiguous but warm, and Kirin reacted in the only way he knew how. To kiss him again, wet and deep and rousing with a new, languid desire.

“How about another round in bed?” His voice was a low husky murmur, rushed out between heady breaths from a chest that was starting to pick up pace. The proposition was met with another kiss, this time his companion pulling him down, into the water, briefly submerging them both before he stood up, his arms wrapping around the pale immortal to heft him along. Kirin reached his legs around, securing himself in place, and was briefly surprised by the words that found his ears as their lips parted.

“Not tonight. You should rest, and worry about seducing me when you feel better.”

“But I don’t-,” he began to protest, but his lips were too busy doing something different, Angeles pressing down for another delightful contact, his tongue stealing any further complaint. A distraction, he recognized easily, and part of him nearly allowed that to be the end of it. But he did not feel poorly, making him wonder what had provoked his usually astute friend to make such an assumption, and further, there was a rising paranoia mounting within him - to be rejected now would certainly mean that those golden eyes might wander, might look elsewhere, be swayed by the thrills of another. Immortals were like that, after all. Passion and impulse ruled their systems, and therefor it was all too easy to be lost in the moment. He couldn’t allow that.

A soft, plush material briefly pressed behind him, wrapping around his back before he was suddenly prone upon the soft, fluffy surface of the large bed. Angeles released him, allowing him to lay comfortably, while the larger male sat down next to him, using a towel to dry his hair. Kirin didn’t recall seeing him claim such a thing, but as he grew more aware of his surroundings, he realized that one was beneath him, and that they had left the warmth of the bathroom to enter the master chamber. Only now did the thought occur to Kirin that he was to be sharing a room with the crimson creature he had shared a cell with. And this was such a very stark contrast to that place, he wasn’t sure how he felt - whether this was an upgrade or not.

The bed conformed to his weight around him, and while part of him relished that feel, another had become accustomed to the firm foundation of stone, the unyielding nature of his resting place. And then another was simply dying to not lose this disagreement, and find out how it felt to have another man on a bed. Mustering whatever boldness was within him, he decided it was safest to not play fair.

Reaching up, the noble immortal pressed the edge of his nail on his forefinger against the snowy flesh at the nape of his neck. With enough pressure to puncture his hard flesh, something he had often considered immortals were more able to do to themselves, he cut a line down his neck, all the way to his collar bone. The reaction to the sudden scent of fresh blood was immediate. His beautiful Adonis turned, staring down at him with smoldering honeyed eyes, his brows raised in question while a sly grin threatened the edges of his lips.

“I feel fine,” Kirin said in a soft, alluring tone - the best he could manage for one not used to attempting sensuality so seriously. “You tasted a lot of others today. Who do you prefer? Them, or me?” His own lips curled in a grin - he could see a shift in his partner’s expression, recognized the signs of lust, and knew he had captured his attention. A swell of pride and excitement filled his chest.

“How very brave of you, my once timid creature,” Angeles spoke in that low, intimate voice that felt like velvet purring against the eardrums, and he approached with slow deliberation. Leaning down, he trailed his tongue over Kirin’s flesh, lapping up the blood that oozed out, threatening to stain the towel beneath him, before hovering his mouth just above the soft flesh of the smaller man’s lower ear. “Every single time… I’ll not listen to your complaints tomorrow.”

Before Kirin could process what that might have referred to, fangs were in his flesh, and his blood was on fire with a pleasure that had likely become addicting for him. Large hands roamed his body shamelessly, stirring him in lewd ways, his voice escaping his throat no matter how hard he tried to hold back. Eventually, he gave up on it. The rest of the evening began to blur together. His body was besieged again and again, his own climax reached until he had nothing to give, until his body trembled with dry convulsions of pleasure, until he ached in every possible way - until he realized how insatiable his partner really was, and collapsed in his arms a sticky, sweaty mess that would no doubt need another bath in the morning.


	26. New Normal

     Sleep was deep and dreamless that evening. His body felt heavy and warm, and the young nobleman found himself lulled into that pool of darkness that consumed his mind. However, there was a point when he noted a strange shift, a sudden withdrawal of heat, like someone had yanked off his blanket - it was almost enough to rouse him from that slumber. But the lethargic nature of his body coaxed him to adapt, to remember that he never felt the cold, to ignore its crisp kiss on his flesh and continue to rest.

     It was the sun blaring in through the window that ultimately woke him. The sound of the curtains being drawn was like nails against chalk to his ears, and it startled him into a fitful awareness that had his voice coming out in angry complaint, “Angeles, stop that - I want to sleep.” He was only mildly aware of his surroundings, but the soft laughter of a woman stabbed into his consciousness like a dagger from the dark.

     He sat up with a start, eyes wide, no doubt disheveled and nude beneath the thin satin sheet and comforter that fell down to his waist. A maid in primly pressed attire was by the curtain, tying it off in a neat, practiced bow. Her golden hair was bound back in a high bun, something practical and modest as suitable for a serving girl, and she had the fresh, vibrant aroma of a human who maintained her youthful vitality. Her eyes were a dark chestnut when they turned to survey him, and she was trained enough to lower them demurely at his display, bowing courteously. “His Majesty is at court already, my lord. It is well past noon, and I was instructed to let in some light,” her voice was soft and pleasant, but Kirin could only be annoyed by it, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.

     He wasn’t used to it. To other people existing in his world again. To the possibility that someone in the chamber could have been anyone other than Angeles. This acceptance of reality irritated him, and that sensation was only exasperated as he turned to move and found his body once again protesting with such an intense pain it left him gasping for breath.

     “My Lord, are you well?” Her concern made him find something near - a pillow, fortunately - that would serve as a projectile that he flung at her.

     “Go away, and find me a valet,” he demanded harshly, loathing himself for appearing so before someone so low. It was humiliating, and he needed to compose himself alone.

     A faint shriek escaped her as the pillow - very poorly aimed - hit the wall next to the window harmlessly, but was enough to have her bow and scurry along to do as he asked. Watching the door close behind her was relieving, and gave his taxed mind time to register, remember, and relax. Assessing his surroundings, he admired the cherry furnishings with the distracted sort of interest of someone avoiding the subject, before his eyes alighted upon a cup of crimson liquid seated on the nightstand next to him. A small note was next to it, and he turned his attention there.

     The script was marvelously ornate, flourished in a style that had long since fallen out of fashion due to its time consuming nature and difficulty to perfect: Drink more, and try to rest. Don’t leave the palace.

     There was no signature, but Kirin was not so daft as to conceive it was written by any other than his crimson haired companion. Moving around did, he discovered as he attempted to stand, make him feel rather dizzy. With a faint grunt, he leaned back against the head of the bed, picked up the fluted glass, and began the slow, arduous process of drinking the cold liquid. There was something dissatisfying about it, about the way his stomach churned when it flowed down his throat, the slight nausea that he felt despite how appetizing its aroma was. It had been too long since he had drank it properly, from the vein of a beating heart. Though, he wondered if he could stomach it in his current condition.

     Dwelling on that thought was putting him in a dark mood, so he cast it aside and finished the drink, more swiftly than he had last night. Though his head was still spinning, he knew he hadn’t long before the servant found an individual to assist him, and he did not wish to be seen by anyone else in his current state. Standing up on tottering feet, willing his legs to be resolute despite the tendrils of pain that shot up his back at each footfall, the slight creature made his way over to the wash basin that had been set up for the morning use. It appeared he had one independent his companion, which made him feel flustered somehow.

     Though it was not necessarily shameful, he could only imagine the rumors that must be flying around the nobility by now. Sharing a room with the usurper, the murder, the creature that currently no one dared to stand up again. He doubted that would last long, likely only as long as it took to muster up stronger forces. By law, no noble family was allowed more than a few guards at their command while at the Capital. It was something that the paranoid King Harold had imposed, shortly following a series of inquisitions into the loyalties of the noble. Peace among immortals was as fragile as thin ice over a lake - too much pressure in any area, and the party would surely plummet into the depths. That sort of toxic acceptance and environment may be why people were so willing to accept a sudden shift in power, but it would inevitably come to a head.

     The water had long since grown cold, but he didn’t find that repulsive. Using a rag, he scrubbed himself down, paying particular attention to the place between his thighs, were sticky remnants of the night before remained, causing him to feel childishly bashful over such over indulgence. It had likely been unnecessary, but part of him couldn’t help thinking - hoping - that his companion would be too thoroughly sated to look at anyone else with those lustful, golden eyes. Kirin felt a bit pathetic over being degraded to use such a tactic.

     He was finished just in time for the door to open and a slight, young man walk through. Standing a few inches shorter than Kirin himself, this valet had russet locks and a freckled face, mint green eyes and seemed prone to smiling, by the lines on his face. His neat suit was crisply pressed, white gloves concealing his fingers, and he secured the door and approached with such a brisk stride that Kirin felt himself desire an escape. It was a fleeting emotion, but one he was terribly ashamed of - part of him didn’t want to be seen at all by someone lowly, someone who may dare to think less of him despite being beneath him. It was an ugly side of himself, and he realized that he had much more of those than he had ever known.

     But years of training helped conceal all of that. It took him only a moment to gain control of his expression, and another two before his voice was the plain, stoic sound that he favored when dealing with the help. “Set out my clothes and help me get dressed,” he spoke coolly, observing the small man move about to do so with little more than a ‘Yes, m’lord’ in return. That was a blessing, giving Kirin time to further compose himself, to dry properly, to get on his undergarments when they were brought out. The rest of it was easy, as he simply had to stand there and allow the valet to work.

     The boy was young, but moved with a precision that spoke of experience. Many families were raised for service, as it paid very well among most jobs, the work was rarely arduous, and because of the nature of the society they lived in, it was difficult to become a servant if one was not born within the serving families. A level of trust was needed, since most often, the immortals partook liberally of their human counterparts, and would often, one way or another, betray secrets best kept behind sealed lips.

     He wondered if this lad could be trusted not to speak of the state his body was in. He had seen it, briefly - the red bruises, the claw marks on his back and thighs, the kiss marks that shamefully betrayed what, precisely, he had done the night before. They would be gone by the evening he hoped, but until then… It wasn’t worth dwelling on.

     The soft silk of his shirt felt strange against his skin, and the vest that went over it tight. A small watch was neatly clasped onto his vest pocket, and then his sleek jacket went on over such. None of it were his own clothes, he noted, and the fit on everything was just a little off - but he supposed his clothes had been tossed out, or sent home, or some such nature that made them unavailable. He’d have to find a local tailor to make something more suitable for his stature. However, none of the clothes were without finery. This current ensemble features a cream undershirt, a baby blue collar tie, a sapphire vest embellished with flourishing leaf designs, and a finely pressed rust colored overcoat to match his trousers. The cut was one he wasn’t familiar with, but he supposed it must have been the latest fashion. White gloves and black shoes completed his attire, and then the pin of his house. That was his, he thought. Someone must have kept it.

     When his dressing was done, the servant stayed to help sweep back his hair, grown too long, from his face. Working wax into the soft tresses, Kirin was surprised to see himself in the mirror thereafter. The man looking back was him, yet felt like a stranger. Not a man who could spend a year and a half in the darkness of a dungeon. Not one who could crawl around in filth and boredom. Certainly not one who would degrade himself to petty means in order to preserve a lover.

     His head was spinning again, but he ignored that. Instead, he had the servant lead the way towards his sister’s chamber, since he was unsure he would be able to efficiently find it. As luck would have it, he wouldn’t have needed to, for no sooner did he reach the lady’s wing, then he heard the commotion that could only be caused by his riotous little sibling.

     “My Lady, please stop this -!”

     “MOVE! All of you, get out of my way! Go away! I want to see Rahil! Bring me my brother! Stop feeding me your lies! Move, I said!”

     A large crash followed, likely from a flower pot, and Kirin bade the valet a thanks before rushing forward. The sudden movement had his mind going dizzy once more and his body aching, but he stubbornly ignored both to push ahead further, rounding the corner to see Riveh’s room. Four servants were out in the hall, two with their hands up as if in surrender, one on the ground bleeding, the other tending to that one. Riveh stood in the doorway, a metal pole holding her transfusion bag next to her, standing in nothing but her nightgown with her hair flowing in its natural sleek strands all around her. The expression she wore was nothing short of furious, though there was something akin to panic in her lilac gaze.

     “Riveh! Settle down, you shouldn’t move so much,” his own voice was more relieved than chastising, and it immediately had her attention. When she stared at him, her eyes widened and the blood drained from her face. He moved forward swiftly, just in time to catch her beneath her arms as her legs buckled.

     “Kirin,” she practically sobbed, tears blooming in her eyes, her arms reaching up to wrap around him. “He told me you were dead, Kirin! Thank the ancestors. I thought… I thought they were lying.. That it was all some sick joke!” Her voice cracked, and the tears flowed in earnest. It was such a strange thing, to have her in his arms once again, to have her breathing, angry and ferocious as she ever was, that Kirin felt he could almost cry all over again.

     But he didn’t. Instead, he simply wrapped her up in his hold, pressing her close and inhaling the aroma that was uniquely her own. He wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, but he did not press her for any questions just yet. That could all come in time. For now, he wanted only to be her comfort, to hold her while her emotions ran their course, and be there to help her back up once the tsunami had passed. Gently, he coaxed her back into the room, having a servant push the pole with her blood behind them, and sat her down on the bed, right at his side. It took some time before her tears abated, and he could feel the moisture seeping through his jacket, touching his skin beneath the three layers of material. He simply didn’t care.

     Pressing his lips to her forehead, he drew back from her, staring down with his own dark eyes, a shade or two deeper than her own. Her slender fingers rubbed away the tears from her face, and she took a deep breath as she met his stare, her soft snowy cheeks flushed an attractive shade of rose from her exasperation.

     “I’m so sorry, Kirin. I tried… I tried to get you out. I tried so many times, but he wouldn’t let me leave after the third failure. He locked me up here and would just…” Her voice cracked again, and he gently rubbed her shoulder without interrupting, staying silent so that she would feel free to speak whatever she wished without rush. “Then, he told me you were dead. He said he had killed you, and that he was all I had left. That was right… Right before I found out about… I couldn’t handle it. I am so sorry, and so happy… I thought I was dreaming, that I hadn’t actually seen you. I was so sure… It was another cruel joke…”

     Another few moments passed, during which Kirin moved to take his little sister’s hands in his own. Then, gently, he ventured forth, “None of this is your fault, little one. None at all. Don’t apologize, and don’t feel any shame or guilt. You were very brave, and endured so much worse than… Any of us.” His own throat clenched as his guilt bubbled forth, as he was forced yet again to imagine what all she had to suffer - living with that atrocity of a king, subjected to his bed, forced to be isolated from her family, held prisoner as nothing more than a harem whore. That rage boiled up again, but he dampened it, forced it aside, and continued to carry on the conversation calmly.

     “I don’t… I am still not familiar with how everything happened. Or why, so suddenly…”

     “What do you mean? Weren’t you there with Uncle?” Her confusion was apparent, though seemed more subdued than her normal vivacious display of open emotion. Of the family, she was the only one who could be called expressive.

     “No, I arrived… Too late. I was never able to meet him.”


	27. Strange Circumstances

     Confusion shifted in subtle waves into a darker expression, into a rage which made the fair shade of her eyes darken into something richer, deeper, the petite woman boiling with untouched fury. “That lying bastard -! I am going to kill him. Wait, no-. Is it true he is dead? And someone mentioned a stranger as king? What in the name of the ancestors is that?” Her voice was heavy with feeling, though she kept a leash on herself, perhaps not well enough for another outburst so soon.

     “Yes, he is dead. There is… A lot, I suppose. A man who claims to be the rightful king. It is a long story. Yours first - what happened?”

     The way her full lips thinned was a sign he recognized as her displeasure, but she was angry enough to enter into her rant full tilt regardless - he imagined she would simply demand more from him later. “Where to start? You were at school, not at home, I am unsure what all you know… Let me start from the beginning. You remember when Lysain came to the capital with Rahil to formerly protest the king’s proclamation about re-instituting his right to a harem?”

     Kirin simply nodded, so as to not detract from the tale overly much.

     “Right. The King didn’t receive them that time, if you recall, even though Lysain never leaves home. He was very irritated. So, when he did return home, he devised a plan, so to speak. He stopped the manufacture of all Unlair goods for state sale. He had mother write to our extended family, all requesting that they do the same and form a boycott. Then, he wanted everyone to return home. He was working on the new estate, you know, and figured we could all withhold there until the madness faded. You were supposed to get a letter. Did you never get the letter?”

     “No,” Kirin spoke coolly. “No, I got one from mother to meet with the Earl, but nothing more.”

     Her frown deepened, and he thought that even for such a foul expression, she wore it well. He wondered how she had guarded her heart for so long. Then he regretted that thought, his chest clenching with painful realization that such was no longer the case, that his precious baby sister was wounded now. He pushed it aside.

     “Well, according to the King, he was meeting with the Earl of Beckon for a matter of the state Treasury when he discovered that the taxes were being trafficked back into the pockets of the nobles, and he had a list of every family involved. You can guess who was on it. All the landholding nobles of the north for starters, plus our cousins the Gerlains and Cavines in the southern isles. When he was exposing the crimes, he states that you arrived in a drunken stupor and attempted to assault him. In defense, you were injured, and uncle was killed. The whole story was circulated by the next day, before any suspicious rumors could arrive, and he placed half the nobles in the capital under house arrest.

     “I was visiting Aunt Kyrna at the time, if you will recall…. It seems like a different life now. Brother Lysain sent word to me to return home immediately, but there was a terrible storm. The roads in that mountain region are impossible to traverse in heavy rain. My departure was delayed a week, and when I did finally leave, I was cut off at the main junction. He killed the guards sent to escort me, and dragged me to the palace.” She paused here, emotion causing her eyes to glisten, but when she spoke, her tone was unhindered by the turmoil within, clear and crisp.

     “They had you prisoner. He told our family that he would give you a public execution if they did not recant the boycott and approve of the marriage… Mother took ill from the shock. She and father entered the deep sleep a month later, and have been moved to our in laws, the DeKavets, for safe keeping. Lysain and Rahil could do nothing… They agreed. Rahil walked me down the aisle. It was… Horrible. No one would raise up arms against the king because he had already made quick work of acquiring his other… Brides. And then, a skirmish started with the Low Landers. They have been attacking our borders for months, and the armies have been preoccupied.” There was a tightness in her voice now, but she swallowed hard and continued.

     “If he had you imprisoned, he had insurance against our family. But then he came to me and said that you were dead. That you had been shot in the dungeon, and were rotting. I just snapped. I couldn’t… I couldn’t bare the thought of his… Fiend growing inside me… I just couldn’t handle it any more. If we were both dead, I thought that Lysain and Rahil could end it.”

     After she was done, Kirin sat with her for a while, allowing her time to collect her emotions while his own mind processed the information. He understood, but something still felt wrong. As though there was something else at work. A detail missing… But he couldn’t unravel it just now. Perhaps after he spoke with Rahil and got more of the story from him.

     His introspection was interrupted by Riveh: “I want to go outside.”

     Blinking in surprise by the sudden demand, he shook his head, speaking lightly, “You are still much too frail to face the sun. You should stay-!”

     “I want to go outside, Kirin!” There was a desperation in her voice that made him cease any further protest. Sighing, he moved to stand, and called out for a servant from the hall.

     “Very well. But first, have them give you something less scandalous to wear.”

     “I don’t want those hands to touch me!” She glared at the tall young servant who entered, causing the poor girl to waver halfway into the room.

     “Riveh. Behave, or I won’t help you out.” His voice was gentle, but she looked at him as though he had just slapped her. “I am not helping you get dressed,” he warned further, causing her to whine in a way that reminded him of her seven year old self, convincing him to do all manner of improper whimsical activities. “You are a woman grown. What will people think?”

     “Then find me my actual servant.”

     Kirin looked at the human who had entered, tilting his head in a questioning manner. The poor creature just looked flabbergasted.Grunting, the noble flicked his hand at the pitiable individual tasked with his sister’s well being, sending her off. Riveh had been particular about her servants since before he could recall - as a toddler, she ran screaming down the hall when her nanny was changed, barged into the room of their eldest brothers, who at that point were refusing to live separately, and commenced the largest tantrum then known to the nobility. She has since outdone herself five times, the latest of which he recalled as having been just two years ago, when she was denied admittance to the overseas school she had her heart set on. Never mind that it was exclusively for the vile lycanthropic people who lived on the southern continent.

     There was not enough energy within him to argue now. Instead, he just consented, and helped pick out what dress she would wear - a soft azure shade that seemed suitable for the season, though it was again in a style he didn’t recognize. Frilly collar, low lying, with no sleeves. He thought it odd. His little sister assured him that it was fashionable. Within her closet were also shoes, and he found a matching pair for the dress - commonly, such things were ordered to suit. Even in her state, there was no denying her nobility. With a sigh, he began to assist her in untying her nightdress, which laced together in the back.

     He had not mentally prepared himself for what it would mean, to see what happened to her. Her raven locks swept over her shoulder, as the fabric loosened, it fell away to reveal ivory skin riddled with small silver scars. That seemed wrong - immortals did not scar, unless under dire circumstances. But her back was scored with them. Thin lines that stretched all across her, like some chaotic tattoo of malice. Rage and guilt mingled together as they welled within him, imagining what must have happened to have caused this - why had it happened? She said she kept trying to escape. Had she been punished? His own wife? That made her a royal consort, someone who should be above harming - what madness had possessed the king? What had she endured that had driven her to the point that she was desperate enough to take her life? That thought was jarring, but he didn’t have the words to ask. His throat was tight and dry, nearly suffocating.

     She shivered, and held up her arm that was still attached to the intravenous transfusion. Focus. He had to focus, and address the problem and questions at a more suitable time. Taking deep breaths, he allowed his mind to narrow. One issue at a time. He was suddenly glad the dress was sleeveless. With great care, he helped her step out of the dress, slip it off her other arm, and then pulled her blood bag through it to remove the nightwear. Seeing his little sister in her birthday suit had long ago become the least erotic thing he could think of, so it did not make him uncomfortable in the least to see her ivory flesh, so very much like his own. What was unsettling was the further signs of abuse he witnessed there. As he helped her slip into her under dress, a petticoat with a sleeveless corset attached, he caught sight of the horror that she, herself, had inflicted upon her stomach. Though the brutality had faded into silver lines on ivory, her once perfect surface was deformed, contorted, the lines of where it was ripped apart and stitched back together like the work of some mad scientist. He prayed it would heal further, and that she would not be marked with that memory for life.

     Riveh had grown quiet. Perhaps she sensed his unease, perhaps she was trying to discourage any questions. When he tightened her corset, she did not complain except to give him a nod when it was sufficiently laced. Her stockings she wanted to try to do herself, but quickly the stretch jarred her arm and she consented to his aid. In little time, he had her main dress secured, was slipping on small gloves that only reached her wrist and were adorned with small lace flowers, and had progressed to her hair.

     It was not a manly past time, to help your little sister with her hair. But when she was young, she was a terror, and it had somehow developed into a way for the siblings to bond. That being said, he was hardly skilled at the act, and managed only to brush through her long tresses and braid it out of her face. Adorning it with a few of her gems, in a sapphire to match her dress, he found it practical even if it wasn’t overly fashionable. She looked much more like herself, and when she stood in front of her mirror, perhaps she felt more akin to how she was, for she flashed a wide smile.

     “Such fuss about nothing, hm, brother?” Casting him a mischievous glance, she let him finish tying her shoes before she walked towards the door. He had the sense to grab a parasol before following her, the noise of her wheeled transfusion pole stalking their every step.

     “Just to the garden,” he warned.

     “I don’t feel like going on a grand adventure just yet, never fear,” she replied with her usual sardonic wit.

     There grew between them an awkward silence, the servants they passed all looking fairly awed and surprised as his sister walked by - many of them did not appear to recognize him. As they approached the south ward, and beyond the gardens, she finally broached a new subject.

     “How… How is it that I did not die, brother? I was… I was dead. I remember it… But then… I was awake.” Her voice was soft, a quiet sound that carried only the distance to him, but even so, he moved closer and wrapped his arm around her waist. It was not precisely a secretive matter, but it was hardly something he desired the whole court to be gossiping about by the morrow.

     “I don’t know, exactly. The man I was imprisoned with… Or, that I found… He brought you to life.”

     “But I was gone.”

     Kirin just nodded slowly as a guard that did recognize both of them, wearing their family emblem as he was, bowed and opened the door into the gardens for them. Riveh offered to him a smile, leaning further against her brother as they moved to venture outside. The parasol was open and above them before the sun hit. Though Kirin was not positive it was necessary, often the sun was extra sensitive to immortals recovering from blood loss. In a frail state, they were susceptible to burning beneath it, though it was rarely more than a discomfort.

     Once again, the fragrance of the world, of flowers and dirt and wildlife, overwhelmed his senses, rousing forth a mild sense of nausea and vertigo. It was invigorating and startling at the same time, and perhaps Riveh felt much the same, as she reached her arm up to hold him in return, gasping, “How lovely! It truly is spring? Marvelous.” She sped up, or attempted to, her pole clattering behind her on the uneven stone surface beneath their feet. Wincing, she paused and contained her excitement, her other hand grasping out to hold the contraption and aid it in its pursuit of their course.

    As the wind picked up, it carried with it a familiar scent coming from the fields to the west. A sweet and alluring aroma that Kirin couldn’t help look towards as the pair wandered about the garden with their makeshift shade. Beyond the low cut hedges, a group of soldiers - from the looks of it, formerly royal guards - were standing around a familiar figure with long, crimson hair. Dressed in a black velvet coat with gilded trimmings, matching the ebony in his trousers and the shined coal boots, he was a striking figure against the verdant landscape. The gathering was too far to hear the exchange, but as Kirin watched, the guards began to kneel, one by one, before Angeles. An oath, he assumed.

     “Is that the new king?” 


	28. A Problematic Encounter

     The lilting tones of his sibling returned his focus to the present state, and his amethyst eyes lowered towards her. With a polite smile that did not touch his gaze, the young noble guided her around the bend, traveling between the delphiniums that bloomed on either side of the cobbled pathway.

     “Apparently,” was all Kirin could manage, not quite sure how to fathom the rather ridiculous situation.

     “Can he do that? I thought Lord Hallrow was next in line?”

     “Indeed. The problem arises with the fact that - who can stop him? He… I don’t think he is someone who can be denied easily.” Contemplative of the fact, Kirin allowed his attention to wander absently. His gaze flitted over the scenery, barely registering the beauty of the flowers, the fountain that he was sure was a new addition, its central piece the late Queen riding a pegasus, towards the building that lined the garden, the servant’s wing, where women were bustling back and forth with their daily duties.

     In his mind, he was trying to determine if an army of men could stop Angeles. Would the lords gather one to bring the usurper to his knees? He couldn’t imagine that such a plot was not already in the works. How long would it take before that destroyed this odd serenity in the palace? Would his family be long gone by that time, leaving the new king with no army on his side? Or, worse, would his brother, an heir to the throne in some sense, albeit farther off the line, help whatever force wished to displace the red haired demon? It was only a matter of time before such took place, whether or not it was a successful mission. He remembered the bullets piercing through Angeles, the blood that blossomed on his clothes, and his stomach clenched. Could he die?

     Then, he recalled finding him in that dark cell. Something told him it was very difficult to kill that creature.

     “What does he want?” There was a sudden venomous nature to the soft lyrical notes of his sister’s voice that shocked him from his revelries, his violet gaze shifting first to assess her as his pace stopped to match her own. Stiff of shoulder, her brows pressed together, her head tilted up ever so slightly for a haughty effect - he recognized the subtle signs of her irritation and anger, though he could not fathom why as his eyes fell upon the lanky creature approaching them.

     Lord Kenth, the royal historian, was striding briskly up the walkway from the eastern wing in their direction. One could not doubt from the clear attention in his eyes and straightforward gait that he meant to meet them, and such an assumption was confirmed as he came to a stop in front of the pair. Offering a curt bow and terse smile, the brunette allowed his gaze to linger upon Riveh for longer than necessary before those azure orbs turned onto Kirin.

     “Lord Kirin, Lady Riveh. A good day to you both.” His voice was a sharp sound, always with the tone of a lecturing instructor, and it sounded even more tense than normal.

     “Lord Ken-,”  _Slap!_

     Kirin had begun a return of the cordial exchange when his words were cut short from his mouth, his sister’s diminutive hand moving too swiftly for him to anticipate, colliding solidly with the opposing cheek of their sudden new companion. It was a harsh sound that cracked through the air, disturbing several birds from nearby trees, who shrieked as they took off in new flight, and the few other occupants of the garden, whom the pair had not come across in earnest, turned their attention to the spectacle with mild interest. Alarm immediately sounded in his mind, as he considered how often he had seen his sibling pushed to the point of violence. This sprouted a suspicious dislike in his chest for the other man, and he had the urge to slap him on her behalf, if only because it was probably deserved.

     “How  _dare_  you approach me, Lord Kenth?” Riveh possessed a dark, ominous tone that was rife with animosity, one he had very rarely heard from the normally calm younger sibling. Her soft lilac eyes had grown cold, shaded by her thick lashes in a glare that could steel.

     Kenth took this very well. The tall man, likely half a foot superior to Kirin, only flinched slightly as red bloomed against his lightly tanned flesh, displaying the force of her assault openly. His smile was more forced now, but remained as he bowed his head all the more. His eyes lowered to the ground only briefly, before he managed to lift them up to face the fury of Kirin’s petite sibling head on.

     “My apologies, Lady Unlair. I beg your pardon. I have an urgent matter to discuss with Lord Kirin.” His voice was not irate, nor did he sound overly surprised by the fervor he was faced with. The reaction was too bland to be satisfying, and though Kirin himself put up a mask of impassive disinterest, his own gaze had grown icy and suspicious, observing the taller man with a vicious scrutiny. Instinctively, he reached his arm up and cradled Riveh’s shoulder, drawing her up against him in a protective display. This did not affect the fury in her words when she besieged the man next.

     “ _The nerve!_  I do believe you can have absolutely nothing to discuss with my brother of any import, and you lost the right to beg for his audience long ago. Now I suggest you move along before I escalate this matter and cause a scene.” The threat was thick, though her tone had been perfectly controlled, not growing loud enough to capture any more attention than she already had. To be fair, this was already a scene, several onlookers still paying attention, but Kirin supposed she could very easily make it worse.

     Something crossed over the other lord’s features, some emotion unguarded and displayed, something caught between guilt and irritation. It was enough to rouse an annoyance in full force from Kirin, and his own words flowed unbidden into the conversation, “Whatever offense you have made towards my sister is an offense against my family. I suggest you remember that before you attempt association next time.” Intending that to be the end of it, he shifted to move on, but Kenth appeared to have overcome whatever muddling emotions he had and attempted to keep them further.

     “Please, Lord Kirin!” There was a strain in that tone, one which was so intent on being beseeching yet attempting to avoid the sound of begging. The pride of the nobles was the cause, Kirin could only imagine. “This is a matter which you will find of very personal interest, I think.”

     There was something in the way that was spoken, a confidence that sprouted an interest, a curiosity as to what the other man could possibly be talking about. It paused the Lord from retreating, but he was yet unwilling to give the offender of his sibling what he desired. “What matter?” Kirin’s own tone was the cold, calculated one which he so often utilized to guard his internal workings. It was the wisest card to play, though he glanced towards his little sibling, his stare asking an unspoken question.

     Her frown was a fair answer, but then Kenth was growing quiet, taking a step closer to them - hesitantly eyeing the slight woman who might assault him again. By now, most onlookers had grown bored and moved on, disappointed that not more violence or dramatics had transpired. A faint whisper attempted to reach them, the words so softly spoken they were barely audible. By necessity, as immortals had such fine tuned hearing. “It is about the Moroth king.”

_Angeles_ , he meant. The mention of him caused the young lord to glance over towards the field, still visible in the distance, to where that crimson creature stood against the evergreen surroundings. For a half heartbeat, Kirin thought he caught the attention of those golden orbs, the mere imagination enough to cause his heart uncomfortable palpitation, but then it was apparent his attention was on the soldiers before him. Kirin’s focus moved back to Kenth, a frown beginning to threaten his lips. The palace historian had information about his demon. It was something which he was loath to not investigate, but it would mean associating with someone who had wronged his sister in some way, a matter he intended to investigate thoroughly at a more appropriate vector. Glancing towards the young immortal in question, the shift in her composure gave him an answer.

     “In that case,” she spoke with that easily authoritative tone that made men jump to her every whim. “I will accompany you with my brother, since you cannot be trusted otherwise.” Kirin blinked in mild surprise, but the young woman simply nodded at him, as if to say she was accepting of his intrigue and desire to investigate without the discussion needing to be vocalized.

     “Certainly, though perhaps somewhere… More private? Would you both accompany me to the library?” There was relief in his tone, as well as a great helping of nerves, his gaze shifting around the garden, glancing over the wandering bodies as if inspecting them all for some flaw. Kirin felt mildly curious about the cause of such, what the matter could be to necessitate such secrecy, but then his eyes fell on his sibling once more, a thought occurring to him. She was in no state to exert herself in such an engagement, this having meant to be a simple, short stroll out in the fresh air and sun.

     Though she did appear fairly peaked, there was a certain defiance in her stare when she met his, one which warned him that she would be very adamant if he attempted to have her stay behind. He declined to try, but ensured she was stable and secure as the trio changed their venue.


	29. Blood, Magic, and Bargains

Ambrose Kenth was in his fifth century, a young immortal to be a historian. The family held a Earldom and a trade enterprise which prized itself on forging the treacherous route to the southern continent of Lorov. Though there was nothing that had ever seemed spectacular about the man, or family, they were respectably elevated and accomplished, and he had never had any bad encounters with the Lord in question. In fact, he had often come to him during his examinations for University, to help research for his various projects. Riveh he did not know had any association with him at all.

He contemplated this matter while they walked towards the library, recalling all the insignificant details he could about the other immortal, while the lot of them maintained a stiff silence until the ornate doors of crafted oak wood opened, exposing the interior of the library. This part of the palace was old, part of the original construct, but had been lavishly refurbished more than once. Immortals were ever so fond of their surroundings and wealth, after all. The wood of the doors had been carved with exquisite and complicated decorations in a style which had been very popular several centuries ago, and had a timeless quality which kept the finery one which all eras could appreciate. The tree of knowledge, inlaid in gold and pearls, with the Pegasus that represented the currently ruling house. That aspect of the decoration had changed before, and one could still see how the winged horse was thicker, affixed to the surface to stand out. It would likely be changed again, Kirin contemplated absently as they stepped through the threshold.

As the doors secured behind them, Kirin heard a lock click and noted that Kenth was going to great lengths for privacy. Despite that, the library was not the most popular place in the palace and was rarely traveled - certainly, it would be the last place anyone would wish to venture following the turbulent changes in palace hierarchy that had been brought about by the last few days. Or, perhaps people were coming more frequently to investigate the new king, who claimed to be of such an old blood. One which Kirin was barely familiar with at all.

At this point, Riveh was slightly winded. Her composure held, yet the soft inhale and exhale of her breath had become more frequent, slightly strained, and he could feel her leaning on him even more. The pale nature of her expression worried him, though he understood that she was always of a pallid nature, not unlike himself. To alleviate her strain, the brother moved with careful steps towards the back work area of the library, to a place that held lush, comfortable sofas and chairs, and gingerly helped his little sister down into one. Though she did not allow her condition to show clearly, he imagined that she was having a harder time than she would have liked, and there was gratitude in her gaze when she flashed him the faintest of smiles as he claimed a blanket from one of the sofas to drape over her lap. Designed for comfort, this section had plenty of pillows and, if Kirin recalled correctly, was somewhere that Lysain and Rahil would come to seek respite when in the capital. Rahil would nap whilst Lysain studied whatever it was that man was interested in at the time - it tended to vary drastically when the hermit left his home. Once, Kirin found him studying the art of corset making. Another time, it was the hundred and fifty native varieties of amphibians. One could never really tell with the eldest brother what was on his mind.

Kenth wandered off briefly, moving up the stairs to the second story of the cavernous chamber and likely seeking his office. Kirin took the interlude to inquire with his sibling, feeling secluded and safe enough within the towering shelves of knowledge, “What did he do?” It was crisply spoken, and in a hushed voice, his head tilted ever so slightly as he observed her reaction. Her shoulders stiffened, squared and her lilac gaze locked onto his darker orbs.

“He is a snake. Do not trust his meek act,” was all she said before there was a large crash, an audible collapse of something from above, followed by a sharp curse filling the air.

“Damn it, Raenar’s piss, what the hell!”

A fine brow raised over Kirin’s eye, his attention turning upwards towards the open room from which the noise was coming, and in short order, the tall brunette returned to the edge of the rail with a large bound book in his hands. The cover was leather, by the shine on it, and even at a distance, Kirin could see the silver inlaid into the material. Another few moments, and Kenth had returned, muttering softly to himself about something being amiss in his office. When he put the book down in front of the pair of Unlair siblings, both exchanged quizzical looks following their brief observation of the tome.

Black leather with silver pressed into it, the designs covering the surface forming curious spirals and swirls that appeared almost akin to runes, though Kirin had never seen the like before. He wasn’t exactly a student of them, though. Wrapped around the book, what he had not seen at a distance, was an ivory chain that held on the top a lock embedded with a crimson jewel that seemed to glow even in the well illuminated area of the library. There was writing on the surface as well, shimmering with an energy that seemed unnatural, even for immortals, but Kirin could not read it. The script was too archaic for his knowledge.

“What is it?” He finally prompted, as Ambrose simply seemed to be glancing between them and fidgeting in a nervous way that the young man found revolting. He had never thought of the lord to be an anxious sort, but perhaps he had never truly paid much attention. Or this was merely how he was coping with the stress of the situation the whole of the aristocracy was now found in. One could hardly be sure.

“Ah, right, this is - well. This is the only book that has any pertinent knowledge regarding the Moroth line, I believe.” His voice was less annoying that Kirin would have suspected, flowing with a confidence he was not presently displaying.

“That can’t be right. All noble lines are recorded superfluously.” This was Riveh’s voice, sharp and scathing, displaying her irritation openly. She vocalized the trail of thought his own mind was following.

“Yes, well, that is typically the case. And the Moroth line is indicated in several ancestral archives, but the book of the family - as all of the families have - was expunged or lost. There is only one book which even has any reference of them, which is in Andre’s analysis on the Royal families. In it, he notes the time period of their reign, from 3970 A.C to 1, and that our N.E time frame follows the fires of hell, when apparently the whole country burned for three full days. Much was damaged, including, the historian states, all of the records of the ruling family. Though, oddly enough, we have a record of every other family during that era, and several historic events, such as the war of the Moon, which took place from 1200 A.C to 1157 A.C. And -”

“Stop babbling,” Kirin finally stated, cutting off the man with some irritation before he began an even more uselessly spoken tirade about what did or did not survive. He had heard of the fires before. His great grandmother had told him of it, once, though she was very young at the time. But she had never told him much, just that she couldn’t help but remember it every time Lysain fired up the coal engines at home. She only woke for a few years every two hundred or so, and was currently resting happily in their family estate. “How do you know this has anything to do with the Moroth?”

Ambrose seemed dully offended by the interruption, a faint flush coloring his sun-kissed flesh, but he did not bristle so much as to refuse to reply. “That is the word, there, on the cover. In the script of our ancestors.” A gesture pointed to the word in question, though Kirin still could hardly differentiate the various letters used, let alone identify how the word made Moroth.

“You can read it?” The question begged the obvious.

“That is part of becoming a historian. The problem is that I can’t open it,” there was a touch of irritation in his tone now, but his demeanour had not changed overly much. He stood before the pair, shifting from one foot to the other, anxiety evident in how his other hand twitched and shifted slightly.

“You can’t just break it?” Another question to the obvious. Kirin considered attempting to test the theory himself, but there was something about the book - something ominous, as though it exuded a power which suggested it should not be trifled with. He would leave any ancient family curses to be afflicted on the Lord Kenth.

“It is enchanted,” Ambrose explained in an exasperated tone.

“So…” Glancing at his sister, Kirin frowned faintly, the first expression he had allowed himself since the contact with the other lord, and then stated further, “What exactly did you wish to discuss about this, aside from your inability to get any pertinent information?”

“It is a blood seal,” Riveh interrupted, her attention once more on the tome, assessing it curiously. Lifting her delicate finger, of the hand not burdened with the IV, she touched the ruby upon the surface. Its inside seemed to swirl, light caught and refracted within, but then grew dark and inactive. “This is very old magic. Illegal, now.”

“Precisely,” Kenth stated simply, nodding as he set the book on a nearby table. “It can’t be broken. In fact, it nearly took a few of my fingers when I tried.” Shaking his head, the taller noble turned towards Kirin in full, his posture straightening as he further stated, “I need you to get a sample of the blood from…. His Majesty, Angeles.” Those words seemed difficult to get out.

To accompany the ludicrous idea, Ambrose produced a small vial with a cord lid, offering it to Kiirn. “This much should be enough. But, I ask that you don’t tell him why. If he should not want this book opened, I have no doubt that he will prevent it, and we will lose whatever information it might have.” Violet eyes simply blinked in response, his mind taking a moment to process the idea of such a request.

There was simply something terribly ludicrous in the mere suggestion of subterfuge with that crimson demon that Kirin wanted to laugh at the simple speculation that such was possible. Crossing his arms in front of him, he glanced over at the book left dormant on the table. “What do you feel could be in there that would be so repulsive to Angeles?” Kirin found himself asking nonchalantly. The sanguine stone was glowing again, faintly, and the young immortal couldn’t help but consider that it was very much akin to the golden glimmer of his companion’s gaze.

“Ah, well…” There was a pause, a hesitance in the Lord Kenth, one which played easily on his features before he answered.

“Indeed - why do you think I would help you, over Angeles? If something in there was a danger to him, what makes you think I would not side with him? You could not possibly know, but take this risk without hesitation?” Suspicion was stirred within Kirin again, mixing with the anger that had been gently simmering within him for whatever wrong was done to his sister, even as he did not know or understand it.

There was a sudden change in Ambrose Kenth. From the nervous creature, fidgeting and shuffling, casting frantic glances towards the door, he shifted into a more confident, almost threatening stance, his eyes growing wide with a sudden urgency, something that was near panic - fear? Instinctively, Kirin stepped in front of Riveh, as if the other immortal may threaten physical harm. “You know nothing of him! He single handedly massacred countless guards and our king, and you would stay by his side? Are you so confident that he would not turn on you next?! He is a criminal - I went down to the cell, to investigate it. Surely you understand at least that much.”

The sudden tirade had a venom in it which Kirin did not quite understand, and it left him even more defensive than he would have liked to admit, though he spoke with a cold control, “And you know so much? You have openly admitted to finding next to nothing.”

Frowning, Kenth’s expression darkened, and his voice was lower when he presented his counter, “There is mention, more than once, of an incident that started the fires.There are those alive who were around during that time - it does not make sense why records, even those burned, would not be rewritten. Do you not wonder if there was something more to it?”

“Speculation is not a reason. Besides, what you ask cannot be done - there is no way of secretly attaining his blood, and I have no desire to lie about this matter to him.”

“I see,” there was a bitterness in that voice, though Kenth did not seem ready to concede completely. Holding out the vial, he stated simply, “Why don’t you simply consider the offer? Take this. I will try to come up with alternatives in the mean time.”

Riveh was the one to accept the bottle, inspecting it quietly before she stood up, grabbing onto Kirin’s arm to assist with the movement. “What will you do with the book when it is open? How will you utilize that information, whatever it is? What if it is simply an archive of their ancestors, with no knowledge other than verifying whether His Highness is a Moroth or not? If Kirin does this, what if it endangers him - why should he take such a risk with no guarantee of reward?” Her words had a calming affect, and mirrors Kirin’s own internal considerations, so he waited expectantly for the reply directed at him.

Ambrose grew rigid, his chocolate gaze hardening. It took him too long to come up with a reply, Kirin thought - he knew that he had no real argument to justify his request. It was a dangerous suggestion, and it wasn’t one he was sure would be worth the risk. But Kenth came up with an answer, his voice stiff, grated out through clenched teeth, “This book… It is the key. I know it. I can’t explain, but I can feel that it isn’t a normal book… Like he isn’t a normal immortal. They must be connected. Can you be easy not knowing what might be within? Or are you willing to risk that it might be something he would rather let be forgotten? As for the danger… No one else would have half the chance. The servants are saying you share his room. You are the only one with any opportunity, Lord Kirin.”

Wrapping his arm around Riveh, the ebony haired immortal simply turned to leave. “I hate such superstitious paranoia.” The sound of his sister’s wheeled transfusion pole was the only noise to accompany their footfalls as the pair moved to leave, Kirin’s mind already moving elsewhere. He hated those thoughts, those fears - they were too much like his own. He had to distract himself, to think of something else.

Riveh. He would focus on her.

With that in mind, he carefully guided her back home, and took responsibility of seeing her cared after for the rest of the afternoon.


	30. Not So Odious

Odious.

     It was not the only word suitable for the particular use of describing the whole of the immortal race in his mind, but it was certainly the most apt at accomplishing the job without invoking a certain murderous instinct that regularly tugged at his restraint. It was not as though he was unaccustomed to the detestable nature of the society, but so long had he been detached from such that the sudden reintroduction left him rather disenchanted by the affair. More than once, he found himself only able to get through a conversation with some dullard or another by imagining what their bones would feel like beneath his grip, how much pressure he would need to apply before they snapped, or how they would look without a head.

     That was, of course, until he actually did that to someone. Almost accidentally.

     Some Lord of something or another - when had there become so many regions? - was droning on about the injustices of the last king and the financial state and the impracticality of such a drastic change in the leadership in the most onerous manner and dialog that Angeles really just could manage to contain himself. He had a strong neck, really - it took more effort than the brute had expected, but his flesh tore apart very nicely. Screaming, which usually only present in his imaginations until the actual death occurred, was the first indication that this was not merely a day dream. The thick sanguine liquid on his hands, the hot aroma of fresh gore in the air; those confirmed it.

     He was honestly surprised no one thanked him. Those present, a small gaggle of onlookers and those equally vying for an audience or grievance, none of who he had bothered in the least to remember, backed away. A woman in pink wouldn’t stop screaming, until her face turned red and she looked most absurd. Annoyance was compelling him to silence her with the quickest method possible which, in an instant shifted from gagging to throttling, when something sharp pinched his side.

     Cold golden eyes turned downwards, and a small little creature was there - a girl barely in her teen years, he would presume, or something terribly malnourished. Her whole body was trembling, tears were in her eyes, but one look was all that he required to ascertain the nature of that particular display of water works; rage. It burned in those cerulean depths hotter than the dark land fire, and the dagger which she clutched in her hands belied her purpose. Bold little thing, he considered blandly. Being surrounded by strange people and scents had apparently made him susceptible to such a vain attempt of revenge.

     “Some would call you brave,” he told her in a placid tone, his irritation well contained within his own mind. “In this instance, that is just another word for very stupid.”

     Her bones were not as strong as the man’s. They were soft - she was young, developing, fragile - and crushed when he contracted his fingers. It was mildly pleasing that in her last breath, as she coughed up blood through her destroyed airway, that she also pushed harder on her weapon. It was almost admirable. But, it was more irksome than anything.

    The screaming woman fainted. Or left. He did not know, nor care, but was mildly pleased that the sound abated. As the would-be assassin fell to the floor, a sudden burst of energy surged around him. Several faceless people - for he did not care to examine them with any true interest - rushed forward, in outrage at the assault or concern. One foolishly grabbed the dagger and pulled it out of him, which earned him a reflexive push that landed the man against the wall at the far side of the room. After that, the gathering appeared wiser about touching him, though several still offered aid in some fashion or another.

     It was more than enough for one day. Perhaps it was too much.

     He did not excuse himself, nor did he wait for any of the nobles to notice his departure. A skill he had honed throughout the years - even among the immortals, it was not too difficult to move without being seen. It was only when he was halfway across the palace that he considered the girl was likely not truly dead. She should really be burned, or dismembers. In the same breath, he decided that it wasn’t worth the energy just now. It wasn’t as though she were some valid threat.

     Purposefully, he avoided everyone on his way to his chambers. They were not the ones he should have had, not the ones he wanted, but until such a time as he could finish full arrangements and deal with the utterly ridiculous amount of politics drowning the high society of this place, they would suffice. It was made bearable by virtue of his roommate, so to speak.

     The doors closed quietly behind him. The inner chamber was silent - oddly so, considering that the lights were all fully illuminated, unsuitable for resting. Blindingly so, Angeles though with annoyance. Whatever new contraption had lights glowing with such ferocity was dreadful. It made his eyes ache sometimes, which was simply unacceptable; it was likely also something he would simply have to adapt to. By the aroma of him, the crimson haired creature did not had to guess at whether or not his companion was present, and it took him less than a moment to find him with a curious gaze. With relief and disappointment, amber eyes fell upon the recumbent form of Kirin.

     Fully clothed still, in the rust suit and complimentary dark blue trappings that Angeles had seen him display earlier that day, in the garden, the slight immortal slept soundly upon the bed. Too soundly, really. At his side in the next breath, a frown threatened to contort the elder’s features into something close to concern as he observed the flushed nature of Kirin’s cheeks, the quickened breath, the signs of distress which should never be present in a being of the immortal race, so near perfection as they were.

     It was bothersome. Or perhaps not. It was difficult to tell.

     An imagination played fleetingly through Angeles’ mind, of entering the room to see Kirin standing by the window. For him to turn, to greet him, to furrow his brow at the sign of crimson seeping into his ebony attire.

     Was that the cause of disappointment? Nonsense. His wound was already closed.

     Out of a strange compulsion, the man decided to help his slumbering companion, to unfasten the buttons of his coat and vest, to gently slide the soft fabric away from his slender form. Kirin did not stir despite the act and motion. His raven hair had been arranged neatly early, in a sophisticated manner that the wind had delighted in picking up, in teasing whilst the little man walked around the garden. Now, it was thoroughly touseled, perhaps from hands combed through it, or was it simply the restless nature of his sleep? It didn’t matter, Angeles told himself. He liked his little immortal messy.

     Did he like the immortal? No, definitely not.

     But he did have a charming sort of face. Lashes that were dark and thick, the sort that always are blessed to a man to the vexation of every female who sees him, an impish sort of maturity that lingered him in the awkward region between youthful and refined. The boy was hardly more than a child, Angeles chastised himself absently, as his hands pulled away his undershirt to reveal the slender flesh of his neck, the bony angles of his collar. Kirin shivered, and for the first time turned - displaying some movement that wasn’t quaking breath and the traits of a potato sack. His fragile body nearly rolled off the bed, the unconscious lad attempting to turn towards the tall brute, who had yet to properly join him. It forced Angeles to catch him, to turn him back the other way, and tug the blanket up to cover him up.

     Disappointing. He hadn’t taken off his pants.

     No, wait, that was a good thing. He stopped his brain from considering that any further.

     Inhaling deeply, releasing the frustrations of the day, he turned away to prepare himself from bed. This was a short happening that involved shedding the tainted coat, vest, and shirt that were clinging to his chest with drying blood, a brief cleaning, removing his shoes and sliding onto the other side of the bed. He kept his trousers on as well, just to prove the point to himself.

     Kirin was feverish. When Angeles settled onto the pillows at his side, he heard a shift in his breathing, a brief pause, and golden eyes shifted to examine the small immortal. A fluttering of violet eyes and ebony lashes greeted him, a brow that furrowed and lips that twisted faintly in a smile, before his expression relaxed once more and his breathing returned to a regular, albeit still unease pace that indicated his unconscious state. Reaching out an arm, the larger male pulled the slight one up against him, grunting faintly as he considered the circumstances that had led him to this present state.

     It was close now… Closer than it had been in an eternity. Everything was within his grasp, if he could only deal with the odious individuals and events which would lead to the ultimate fruition of his goals. But, in the mean time, he had one thing that he desired…

     Whether he liked him or not was quite beyond the point. Kirin belonged to him. That, in itself, provided a satisfaction that was nearly euphoric.

     The man to speak of shifted once more, his petite frame quivering against Angeles’ side, his arms snaking out, seeking the warmth of another living body, burrowing himself against the murderous brute. It was something he though was disgusting, childish and immature.

     But then, why was he smiling? He should be imagining how best to exterminate him - wait, no, that was wrong. He didn’t like that thought.

     Perhaps, just this one being, he liked, only a little.

     At least enough to want to keep him breathing


	31. Noise

    Morning brought with it a very rude awakening; Kirin, having fallen into a deep and tempestuous slumber at some point he couldn’t recall amidst dwelling on the recent events of his life, was startled into sudden and bleary alertness by a pounding at the door, a ruckus on the other side, and the shifting of a warm body which was apparently beneath his chest. Raised voices mixed with forcefully hushed ones, and oddly enough he could not decipher either, both simply blending together with an annoying buzzing that was ringing from what felt to be the back of his skull. Black brows furrowed over squinted violet eyes, and he shifted his attention to his more immediate partner.

     The crimson haired creature was sitting up, the blanket which apparently covered the both of them falling away to expose his tanned flesh on his upper torso, though even a brief observation informed the young noble that was all the skin to be seen. A cursory assessment of himself was enough to deduce that he was similarly dressed. Angeles wore an irate expression ever so fleetingly, something which was of immediate interest to the younger immortal, though it quickly disappeared beneath a guard of impassive disinterest as his golden eyes turned away from the door and rested on his companion.

     There was an unspoken question in his stare, one which made the inquisitive, but rather disoriented man part his lips to speak, but his voice was silenced before even beginning by a cool touch placed upon his forehead. It felt nice and refreshing, which only befuddled him even more, since his partner was normally very warm comparatively speaking. Then, it was Angeles’ turn to part his lips, the sight oddly yet ever so effortlessly sensual, but his voice too was stolen from his throat by the sudden opening of their chamber door.

     It would seem the argument on the other side had concluded, and heavy footfalls announced the arrival of an individual naturally very familiar to Kirin. His attention resumed on the entrance of the grand room, and his mind sluggishly registered the situation at hand.

     First and most prominently, Rahil strode rather ominously towards the bed, his normally well refined expression nothing short of agitated, verging more on thorough rage, smoldering deep within his dark sapphire eyes. Behind him was a small contingency of guards, all standing at attention on either side of the door, though refraining from entering the room at the present. And further behind them, a small gaggle of servants were all looking extremely horrified, and Kirin was unsure whether they were more worried by the armored and armed individuals, or the fact that they had allowed them into the room of their new king. He imagined that was a terrible predicament to be in, and was honestly impressed that his brother had been patient enough to even entertain an argument before entering the quarters.

     A curt bow was allowed, one which was truly only half what would have been expected of most noble individuals, before Rahil began to speak, his deep voice effortlessly commanding silence from the muttering servants behind him, and likely anyone else within hearing distance. His little brother was quick to focus upon him exclusively, at least.

     “Your Majesty,” he spat as per his usual overt dissatisfaction with the title. “I require an audience with my brother immediately, to discuss matters of emergent import.”

     He never had been one to play with frivolities or small chat, cutting straight to the core of any situation. Without waiting for Angeles to answer, Kirin began to move to get up further from his present half-seated position, but the motion made the buzzing in his head intensify, as though his brain was suddenly the hive for a colony of hornets upset that their home was being poked. A firm hand on his chest pushed back on him, forcing him to start to lay back down; he was not quite sure whether he was appreciative of that or embarrassment, but his head was in no state to ponder that little tidbit out just now.

     “Whatever you need to discuss will, by necessity, have to be done here. I do not expect Kirin is ready to leave his rest just yet. You can have nothing to say that would be inappropriate for my presence, as well.” There was no malice in the tone, but it was also not that sweet, charismatic voice that made Kirin’s chest flutter uncontrollably. That made him nervous.

     The displeasure that reply incurred with his brother was evident, which increased Kirin’s anxiety; he had a dreadful suspicion that these two were very likely to try killing one another at some point in their life. Whatever the matter was concerning must have been truly significant, however, for Rahil continued his approach to the bed, standing only a few feet from it when he made a gesture which must have meant something to his soldiers, since the sight of it had them closing the door. Then, he spoke in a calm, low tone that guarded whatever turmoil he must have been feeling:

     “I have just received word from Lysain; the northern town of Unar was raided last night. It was razed to the ground, and our people require an immediate return of our army to ensure that we can mount appropriate defense and counter measures.” Kirin blinked as his brain slowly attempted to process the full meaning of what was being said, struggling to recall the geography of his own region and the neighbor of the town in question. It was odd, and didn’t sound right. But he couldn’t think of why, as though the answer was there but just slipping away, blurred by the raging hornets in his mind.

     “Riveh cannot travel, so I came to inform you that I will be leaving a small group of peacekeepers here with you. When she is fully recovered, I need you to return home with them, where you can both be properly secured.” A meaningful glance was given towards Angeles, dark and accusing before he continued, his piercing stare returning back onto the smaller man. “You are not well enough to be sharing a chamber with His Majesty. I request that both yourself and Riveh relocate to the Earl’s estate, which can easily be secured by the right guard.”

     “There is no need for that,” Angeles cut in, even as Rahil appeared ready to speak once more. “I can assure you that Kirin and Riveh will receive the best possible care and safety here, in your absence.”

     “I insist,” Rahil interjected firmly once more, glaring daggers at the crimson creature. “That my family move out of the palace. Certainly, Your Majesty understands the tenuous nature of politics. There can be no guarentee of safety -.”

     “Do you question my ability to provide that safety?”

     Something was wrong. Why were they arguing? Kirin’s body felt heavy, and he was laying down again, and that seemed wrong too. He’d never felt like this. Angeles was glaring now, his expression dark, and that made the young noble’s stomach contract with a rising sense of dread.

     The general was quite undaunted. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. The Moroth line may be old and you may be some lost heir to the throne, but you are equally without ties to any of the current families, without an army to protect your claim, and without the financial clout to ensure the present stability of a situation which was tenuous at best prior to being completely overturned by your impromptu coup.” There was exasperation in Rahil’s tone that betrayed some deeper level of unrest, and Kirin knew that it must have been because of the news he had received this morning. He wondered if it was worse than he said - but then, he had never heard of anything happening as bad as he said, so perhaps that was enough to cause this sort of reaction. The raven haired immortal couldn’t decide. “As soon as the pair of my siblings are ready for travel, they must return home where my family can retire and recover from this entire catastrophe.”

     There was a shift beside him, a movement that gave him only a moment’s notice of the departure of his companion, before his dark gaze found him standing next to his brother, his full height rising above that of his sibling by several inches. Blood red hair fell around him in impossibly silken tresses, and even with his body half naked, his trousers the only guard to conceal him from sight, he managed to look impressive next to the fully armored Unlair noble. Rahil turned sharply, concealing any reaction to the sudden movement, and focusing a steely gaze upwards at the brute of a king.

     “Your doubts are noted, and dismissed. You have my leave to return to your home with your soldiers, but Kirin will be remaining here, in the Palace, until such a time as I decide otherwise. You may require an army to force your subjects into submission, but do not presume that I match your incompetence.”

    What? No, Rahil was very good at fighting… That sounded wrong. Were they… Arguing over him? Kirin’s molasses coated mental gears were finally catching up, and suddenly his anxiety shifted into a hot burst of anger, a realization that they were literally arguing about what he would do without even consulting him on the matter. This sudden shift would explain why, before the argument had an opportunity to degrade even further, a small throw pillow landed firmly against Rahil’s left shoulder, cutting him off right in the middle of, “Such arrogance is bound to get someone-!”

     Kirin had been aiming for one of their heads. He grunted faintly as wide dark blue eyes turned towards him, a fine crimson brow raising over a set of golden orbs that equally shifted their attention on him. Winded for reasons he could not fathom, it took the young man a moment before he managed to speak; “It may be shocking to realize that I have an actual opinion on this matter; Rahil, I understand your words. I would like to remain here, however, and ask that you…” He panted a bit, his cheeks flushing from the effort which made his head buzz even more. He didn’t understand it. “Leave the soldiers, and when we are ready and able, I will see to it that we return home. Or at least she does, if I am not of an inclination to return with her. I don’t want to change rooms…”

     He’s leaned up too quickly, to throw the pillow, and found himself dizzy and slightly nauseated. It made him grunt again, and at the sight of the display, Rahil couldn’t help taking a step forward before asking with thick accusation, “What in the ancestor’s name did you do to him?”

     Angeles scoffed. “The blame is hardly on me.”

    “The Unlair is a pure line - Kirin does not get sick. Therefor, it must have some thing to do with his new association with someone like yourself.” Apparently, his brother had decided to damn any facade of courtesy. The bitterness and animosity in his tone was open and shameless.

     A cold laugh, short lived and without any true joy, was his answer before the ominous beast in immortal flesh answered; “What an ignorant analysis of the situation. ‘Pure bloods’ are hardly more sturdy than any other, you nobles simply have the pleasure of a consistent and high quality diet. Something, you will recall, Kirin has not enjoyed over the last eighteen months.”

     “What are you, a king as well as a doctor?” The scorn and doubt were hardly concealed, Rahil shifting into a stance that was naturally defensive; arms crossing over his chest, his feet spaced out beneath him, his brow scrunching together in a deep furrow.

     “Apparently more so than you,” was simply Angeles’ answer, his own tone harsh but rather dispassionate. “Much like your sister, Kirin needs time to rest, recover, and give him time to be rid of the shock.”

     “Have you called him the court physician?”

     “There is no need for such.”

     “Who are you to determine that on his behalf?” There was heat in the tone, and Rahil glanced at Kirin, as if he may answer the query. The lad did not feel up to it, his head pounding, and the anger within him simmering all the more as the pair began to argue about him once more, as though he did not exist.

     “Kirin will stay.” Avoiding the question completely, Angeles jumped to a tangent, and shifted his bulk towards the bed, placing himself between Rahil and the noble in question.

     “He will not recover with you brooding over him,” the stubborn brother persisted, gaining a handle on his emotions finally. Though his voice was seething, it was less evident now.

     “Shut up!” Another pillow was thrown, though this one missed both targets - which was, in and of itself, a feat as they were hardly five feet from him.

     There was silence in the room for all of about three minutes, during which the two bickering bastards just stood there; Rahil glanced from Kirin to Angeles and back again, while the crimson haired brute simply stared at the small raven haired man in bed, his expression completely impassive. Finally, he broke the silence with a cold tone;

     “His recovery will be expedited if I distance myself. I agree; Kirin will have this room to himself until the ailment passes.”

     Wait, what?

     Glancing from one male to the other, the young noble gaped, speechless, as his brain slowly considered the meaning behind those words. He wasn’t given the time needed.

     “Agreeable,” Rahil stated in a sharp tone that meant he was not happy, but appeared to be conceding the argument for now. Moving over to the bed, he leaned down and displayed a rare moment of brotherly affection, placing a soft kiss to Kirin’s forehead as his armor clinked and complained at the bending of his waist. It was not as though the brothers were averse to such expressions, nor were they unaccustomed to sharing them, but Rahil was particularly proper about such things when in the company of anyone outside their family. Vaguely, the younger immortal realized this may be a show, put on particularly to make a point to Angeles.

     Despite this, it served to as a comfort in place of the bubbling confusion and the dousing of his anger, an emotion he now couldn’t remember why he had. He was in that muddy a state of mind, and it was positively perplexing.

     “Captain Ryke is remaining. His men will be with you and Riveh at all times - no exceptions, understand?”

     The grunt that he made in reply must have been considered affirmative, because his brother nodded faintly and then turned to leave. He did not even attempt to bid Angeles any sort of farewell, and the king mirrored the act by turning to face Kirin before the door had even closed behind Rahil. 


	32. Perplexing Prophecy

_It was freezing - a chilling cold that penetrated beneath the skin, the muscle, the layers of flesh that should guard the more sensitive inner workings of the body - it pierced straight to the bone and clung onto him, like the claws of death itself, refusing to surrender its latest victim. The sensation was inconceivable to his mind, it felt so very wrong and strange and new, yet he feebly attempted to rationalize it in a thousand different ways while enduring the dreadful vice it possessed upon his form, making even the most mundane acts akin to trudging through tar._

_Though there was not much reason to travel, he noted blandly. The room was a bleak gray, the surroundings oddly indistinct, even the chair he sat upon seemed at once familiar and foreign and completely indescribable. That didn’t seem right, a part of his mind warned him, yet the rest completely disregarded the matter as though that was simply a matter of fact in life. His eyes wandered endlessly, falling upon nothing of interest for what was both an instant and forever, until at last something ominously recognizable caught his attention, resting on a table that he hadn’t noticed before; far enough to be more of an effort to reach than he presently felt capable of exerting._

_But then, he didn’t need to. Dark amethyst eyes watched as he himself appeared before the book, its ruby pulsating darkly upon the surface, and he understood at once that he must be having an out of body experience - an apparition, which would explain the dreary nature of the indefinable world he dwelt within. **Ahh** , his mind adapted.  **That must be it.** The Kirin-that-wasn’t had a disturbingly dark expression, one he did not believe he had ever managed to muster before, one which made his eyes seem black, his brow severe, and eliminated the remnants of youth from his features - this was the visage of a man. Did that mean he wasn’t one? His mind considered the matter fleetingly, because the image before him was too rapturous to be distracted from. The him-that-wasn’t held a bottle aloft, one which swirled with an iridescence crimson liquid which couldn’t have been real, yet he knew innately was. Tipping the container over, he released the fluid onto the ruby, causing it to flourish with life renewed, to beam like a beacon, and for a brief moment, he found himself watching with climaxing anticipation for what would be revealed, growing conscious of the turmoil that raged within him as anxiety and fear battled with his curiosity for what would lay beneath the cover, upon the pages._

_The book did not open._

_“Not enough,” the voice-that-wasn’t-his spoke, a tone he couldn’t recognize yet a sound he would never confuse, and as though it was always there, the image morphed as Angeles appeared behind the book. His face - such a stunning profile that he had - displayed the inquisitive quirking of one brow, the innocent curiosity that couldn’t hide the hint of mischief in that golden gaze, and a new sort of fear suddenly had Kirin’s chest clenching tightly; he was sure that it wouldn’t have been as suffocating if someone reached into his chest and held his heart with bare hands._

_This wasn’t right. His lips parted, but nothing would come to his throat, nothing would leave them, no warning or protest given before the knife was there, in the Kirin-that-wasn’t’s hand, dragging the blade with too much ease across the neck of the beautiful demon that he so coveted, and a glorious stream of crimson burst forth and saturated the book. No care was given to the surprise that contorted his devil’s features, no concern or sympathy; the impostor simply greedily moved to open the book, to indulge in the words upon the pages - yet it was a short read._

_Before the torment of the image could even set in, before his mind caught up with the reality of the scene, the not-him had a hand shoved into his mouth, down his throat in a distorted contortion of reality that made everything stand still, his heart to stop beating, his breath to catch in his throat. With merciless brutality, Angeles found what he sought and ripped out the slighter man’s heart, his image shifting from his endearing demon to the nightmarish murderer that he still found unsettlingly attractive - though such a thought did not stir within him at this moment, as he watched the body-that-wasn’t-his fall to the ground in front of the table, witnessed the gleeful expression on what should have been a dead or injured man’s face, and marveled as the blood that began pouring out of the still beating heart._

_It gushed, even as fangs sank into its tender flesh, even as his monster began to consume it, a sanguine fountain that quickly - too quickly - filled up the room. Drowning - the phantom that watched was drowning - and he didn’t understand, did not believe his body was of flesh and blood, gasped for air but only felt the sickening thick blood of his own heart fill his lungs and choke him, bitter and dreadful._

     The young man woke up gagging, coughing up a mouthful of blood - much to the surprise of a slender young woman who appeared to have been pouring it down his throat. A moment of blinking clarified this matter further, revealing the soft and familiar features of his little sister, Riveh, who looked so vastly improved from his last memory of her he half wondered if he was not waking for some very long, nightmarish dream that was in the same vain of his last unconscious delusion.

     Logic quickly ruled this out, leaving him bitterly aware of the reality that surrounded him as his sibling blinked several times, quickly withdrew a handkerchief from somewhere, and swiftly began cleaning him up as tears started glistening in her eyes. Words were beyond him just now, but the same could not be said about her. Swiftly did her voice begin to babble and bubble, with such a furious vivaciousness that he pondered if she had not said a single word in the entirety of his unconscious being:

     “Thank the ancestors, look at those eyes! Kirin, oh goodness, don’t drown yourself! Drink it right. What is wrong with you now, you silly creature? Are you awake? Is this another of those spells? Oh, should I call the doctor? Well of course I should, regardless of whether you can answer me! Stay still, there we go, all cleaned up - please wake up completely, my dear one, I can’t stand seeing you like this. And I can’t be alone here any more, please - you have to listen.”

     He was listening, and with more attention than he could recall having in quite some time. It didn’t take much longer before he felt able to sit up, in fact, and did so quite promptly - which served a dual purpose of giving him more of a vantage for assessing his situation as it did to silence the chattering of his beloved little Riveh, who ceased immediately in lieu of suddenly dropping both bottle and handkerchief to wrap her arms rather solidly around his slight frame; the resulting mess would be someone’s problem, but fortunately for the little perks of nobility, not either of theirs.

     Though stiff from recumbency, his own arms did not feel as painful and sluggish as his mind told them they were, and he found himself quite comfortable reaching up to embrace his little sister.

      He took the precious moment to gather his thoughts. The most immediate memories were of the book, and the blood; it was a dream - a nightmare. Whatever it was, it was over, and though he felt whatever fears it had trigger within him were worth further review, for now they needed to be put away. What had happened before that? A sickness. Something was wrong within him - he would find out how exactly that came to be later, since it did not seem prudent to dwell on the matter at the moment. Vaguely, with some effort, he searched his mind for bits and pieces, and discovered scattered and disoriented memories which may have been during the time - though their very nature made him unsure whether they were reality or an imagination of his own mind seeking to fill the gaps with something familiar or expected. His sister often by his side, a doctor speaking about various techniques that all sounded terrible, Angeles standing in the doorway.

     Wait, no, that last one wasn’t a memory. Cool violet eyes rested upon the tall form of a regally clad Angeles, looking as ravishing as ever in his ensemble of burgundy and gold, standing within the frame of the thick cherry wood door, his expression a serene pond that was completely inscrutable to him. Kirin imagined his own looked the same, until he recognized the familiar sensation of a smile tugging just faintly at the corner of his lips. Ugh, that was frustrating. Involuntary facial reactions were among the most irksome qualities of expressions, and he made a note to steel himself better against his heart-throb inducing companion.

     A sentence formed in his mind, something simple and casual and engaging, but as his lips parted to speak, the male was suddenly gone. Even a cursory glance was enough to understand he did not move further into the room, for the nature of his movement was always very disorienting.

     “Kirin?”

     The question in his name was puzzling, enough to lure his attention back from the empty doorway, his cool stare shifting to the flushed face of his little sister, ebony lashes cloying onto the tears that had grown too large to be contained in her eyes, but not large enough to fall down her cheeks. She leaned back, releasing him and straightening properly to look him over. His brow scrunched together just slightly, enough to convey his concern and confusion, before he found his voice - right where it ought to have been - and ventured forth in a tone that felt oddly natural and foreign at once:

     “Riv. Should you be up and around on your own?”

     It was a simple query, one which stirred as he further assessed her petite form. Before she answered, he knew she was healed - the prick on her arm where the blood was being transfused was long since healed, the creamy flesh without a blemish to even hint at what once was there, and even the way she sat, straight and proud, betrayed her new health, and it heartened him more than words could convey. Her sweet voice was simply a bonus.

     “Worry about yourself, you daft twit!” Her tone was not as harsh as the words might demand, and there was in fact a generous helping of relief in it that made him feel odd, as though their situation switched in much too swift a time - he could recall sitting at her bedside as though it were yesterday. Wasn’t it? Perhaps only a few days? This felt very wrong. “Your fever broke a week ago, and you have just been laying here like the dead! You don’t know the fright you’ve given everyone. The doctor has been back and forth with his colleges a dozen times trying to understand what you were laid up with, and that just made everyone else have a field day with the gossip!” The tears were bubbling up now, overflowing, and the relief was quickly deteriorating into the hysterical anger that accompanies overwhelming emotion.

     Wrapping her little form within his arms again was a second nature to him, and her warmth was so surprising, he found himself comforted by it likely more than the gesture was intended for. She squeezed tight in reply, and continued to mutter things into the light silk night gown which donned his form - something he had not been wearing before, he knew, and was not overly surprised to discover - causing it to dampen and stick to his skin beneath. His brain was busy contemplating the situation, so instead of words, he simply rubbed her back in reply and allowed her to get it out of her system.

     This would have carried on for some time, he presumed, if a noise behind them had not interrupted the precious moment between siblings, disrupting the new summit of their currently tumultuous roller coaster of emotional life chaos.

     “By the ancestors, look who isn’t dead!” The familiar chime in that sultry voice was anything but pleasant to Kirin, who tensed and glanced over his shoulder to see that a pair of court ladies had just been invited into his room by none other than themselves, he imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for anyone still reading this! I will try to update more regularly again. Hope you enjoyed!


	33. Competition

     He wished in that moment the guards at the door were not so perceptible to being charmed.

     Lady Tasha Difein stood next to her constant cohort, Miss Nina Larain, the pair of them blocking the entrance to the generous suite with all the ominous promise of entrance, before the former lead the invasion. Elegant in her height of five and a half feet, some inches shorter than Kirin himself though often eye to eye by virtue of her heeled footwear, she was known as a belle in court, and had the contrasting reputation of a succubus to accompany it. Chestnut hair of lustrous curls that were often adorned with gems, but rarely confined in any extravagant arrangement, giving her a somewhat untamed allure, accented her olive complexion perfectly and were a great contrast to the sea green shade of her expressive gaze.

     Next to this delight to the ocular senses, Miss Nina hardly compared - which was likely the reason she was such a trusted confidant; there was no fear of competition. Not of noble blood, but of generous wealth, the immortal was part of the growing middle class in their society and had the fortune of being childhood friends with the upper echelons, allowing her personal connections to open the doors even her family’s financial persuasions could not. Yet, she was a plain girl with faint ginger hair that always seemed in need of better grooming, never quite compliant in her arrangements and always overshadowed by whatever ornaments were put in it for over compensation. Her brown eyes were a dull, lifeless sort, no warmth at all lightening their depths, and her mousy visage made her simply forgettable. Not ugly, not by most standards, she was simply not appealing, and this made her all the better at her chosen hobby - gossip. Unimpressive individuals were usually the best at eavesdropping after all.

     Neither of them were welcome sights to either Unlair immortals, and Riveh quickly - almost unnaturally so - dried up her tears and donned the immovable mask of their stoic family in preparation of whatever was to come. Kirin had no trouble with his own, though irritation prickled at his patience.

     Like old friends, Tasha moved towards the bed and slid into the chair that was reserved for the purpose of his visitors, leaning forward and fluttering her lashes in a display of feigned concern if ever there was one. With the proximity closed, he noted now the layers of makeup that she had decorated herself with, the dark sanguine rouge of her lips, the golden shades she had added to her lids to match the saffron gown that she currently sported; that had a deeply sweeping neckline that made her corset enhanced decolletage all the more pronounced; it was mildly uncomfortable, as his eyes couldn’t help flit down to examine the outrageous display, only to find that there was a curious semicircle scar crowning the left one. His brow would have furrowed if he were more at ease with this exchange.

     “My dear Lord Kirin, we have all been so worried over you. Why, I was just expressing myself to the Lady Lyla, who mentioned how poor, sweet Lady Riveh has been at your side incessantly, and I just couldn’t help myself but come to keep her company when - lo and behold, look at you, awake from the dead and looking quite excellent, if I do say so myself,” she began with such a flourishing appeal, it was the sort of ramble that one could not find a place to politely interject into the conversation. Once upon a time, he had thought this a charming quality, before he had become better acquainted with the less savory aspects of this creature’s personality.

     “We are all so eagerly awaiting your full recovery, my dear Kirin. You know, Nina here was organizing a lovely little banquet to bring us together and pray to the ancestors for your return, but now I dare say it will be a celebration of your rejoining society here in the palace. Or will you be returning home? News from Arowai comes in only bits and pieces, but I hear that the raids are growing increasingly vicious, and last week the Na’Fai’s had to return to their lands to prevent incursion in the east. Terrible business, don’t you think? I thank the ancestors every day that my family is fortunate enough to have coastal holdings that are so rarely threatened by anything.” This was gloating, Kirin recognized, in the passive aggressive obtuse nature of true aristocracy. He loathed it deeply, though was content to allow that feeling to be absent from his placid demeanour.

     “We will be staying a while longer,” Riveh seized the brief lapse in the lady's tirade to curtly add to the conversation, her normally sweet and charming tone icy - a reflection of her own disposition towards the court whore.

     “Will you now?” There was a shift in her shoulders, and straightening of her posture that subtly indicated her true reaction to this - displeasure. It wasn’t in her face, not clearly anyway, but it was certainly there, in the faint arch of her brow and unnatural escalation of her voice. “Well, I know it must be ever so difficult being away from your family. I do pray you will be able to travel soon.” There was a devilish nature to the smile she offered them, and before Riveh could quip back - for he had no doubt the little creature was ever eager to do so - Tasha continued in her flowery, overconfident manner that had both siblings internally groaning.

     “Perhaps this sickness was a blessing in disguise though, you know? It has given the new king such an opportunity to throw himself into the government - he has been such a busy, busy creature, don't you agree? And isn’t he just the most handsome immortal you ever did see? I have heard nothing but good things about his ancient line, and they say that his return to us was prophecized - why, the Seer Kiva even sent word that she foretold this happening three centuries ago.” That was a lie, as both of them were well acquainted with the seer - or at least an exaggeration. Kirin couldn’t know for sure simply because he was apparently unconscious for some measure of time, and his mind hadn’t quite gotten a handle on how much.

     “We have become such good friends, you know,” she proceeded fluidly. Even for an immortal, Kirin found himself wondering if she even needed to breathe. “He has been especially generous with my family, entrusting us with reconstructing the parts of the city destroyed and damaged during the reclaiming by the Unlairs. And I dare say he is my particular companion, if you comprehend my meaning.” There was literally no way to confuse it, given how overtly she postured her bosom, the sensual line her lips suddenly formed and the deliberate heated look in her eyes.

     Suddenly, her visit made complete sense. While Kirin was sick, she had started fucking Angeles.

     A sudden flare of rage sparked within him, but he tempered it with more ease than he expected; he must have been greatly improved, since he was increasingly feeling more like himself - calm, logical, and in control of at least himself, if not those around him. Riveh was less tolerant of the not-so-subtle intention to insult, or at the minimum offend, and once again cut into the conversation, “Oh yes, now that you mention it, I did hear about your recent association with the new king. People have been saying just terrible things, you know - vying for power, how the Marquis was pushing his daughter to do unspeakable things to the usurper King. Just dreadful, my dear, I am so sorry that you are  _once again_  caught up in all that gossip.” Her tone displayed precisely how earnest her statements were - which was to say, not at all. Sarcasm was a beautiful art.

     A fine brow arched above Tasha’s eye, her expression growing distinctly cold. “Nothing but vile rumors, I assure you,” she spoke once more, though the fake pleasantry in her tone was abandoned in favor of something vastly more honest - a sharp, pompous sort of inflection that suited her dreadful personality. “Whatever favors bestowed upon my family are nothing but our own worth, though I shouldn’t be surprised if the king were to recognize my clear superiority to certain others, and make open the offers of marriage he has indicated privately.” Then, quite pointedly to Kirin, she placed her hand casually upon her bust, acting as though to sweep away a stray hair that wasn’t there and indicating the scar he had noted previously. “Men always prefer the tender meat, you know. Something soft to accompany the hard - as it is meant to be.”

     “Or perhaps men simply prefer whatever comes easiest to them,” Kirin finally spoke, his tone bland even as his amethyst eyes turned damning as he studied the pair of women. Nina, predictably, did little more than make obscenely obvious expressions through the whole of it, with the occasional gasp in disbelief, as she did just now. It was a show, a posturing, like a proud peacock displaying his feathers to strut his stuff - it was not at all a dance the young nobleman had any interest in engaging at present.

     “Lady Tasha, if you do not mind excusing yourself - as you can very clearly see, I am not up to visitors that are not related to me, and should anyone come in and witness you here with me in this disposition - well, I can hardly think they would have anything very flattering to say about you ladies.” The curt nature of his voice was nothing short of a dismissal, and thankfully, there was some elevation to his position in their hierarchy that obligated even the vain temptress to comply.

     Not without some display, however.

     Standing with every prideful scrap of dignity she could muster, the prim woman drew up her shimmering yellow skirts and tilted her nose upwards so that she looked down at him over her narrow bridge - it was a vulgar display, and one he did not very much understand. It gave the viewer the most unfortunate angle from which to observe the other - straight up the nostrils. Kirin’s expression was nothing more than bland disinterest at her display.

     “I should depart,” the brunette attempted to save face. “I must prepare for dinner with the king - I have been invited nearly every night for two weeks, after all. I cannot have him waiting on me.” Anger shifted and morphed into disgust, but the young man simply looked away from the woman so as not to give her the satisfaction of thinking him the slightest bit interested - he would get details out of his sister, who was much less overly eager to share them.

     As much of a whirlwind as they arrived, the pair departed - closing the door too loudly to be socially acceptable behind them. Accidentally, surely. Grunting, Kirin moved to leave bed, what with his onlookers safely gone, seeking to garb himself more appropriately - just in case any other unpleasant encounters were to befall him, as his sour luck might indicate likely.

     His legs were surprisingly sturdy beneath his weight, though he expected the atrophy of his inactivity to be disorienting. An assurance that he was back to prime health, perhaps prior to his imprisonment, the man waved off his sister’s attempt for help as he stood steady and took in the familiar room. To distract her from fussing, he ventured forth the question that was obvious in the air between them, “Is it true that Angeles has been with that creature?”

     Riveh took her bottom lip between her teeth in a delay of answering, chewing on it absently as her gaze averted off to the window - it was a habit he recognized in her, developed in her youth whenever she didn’t want to admit something to their parents. A sigh escaped his lips as he moved, traveling towards the closet, and she was quick to stand up and hold out her hands to help - hands he lightly shoved past, waving her off yet again.

     “Come now, Riveh; knowing is always better than ignorance.”

It wasn’t a lie, at least for an individual like Kirin. That wouldn’t apply to all - certain types of people would rather be blissfully unaware of the building falling all around them. This seemed like a foolish mentality, and the pragmatic in him could abide such senseless avoidance of reality, no matter how unpleasant. That didn’t mean that the truth didn’t hurt.

     “It is not untrue,” Riveh ventured forth with a careful cadence, pacing closer too him so that he might hear her even as he disappeared into the oversized closet to pick out his garments - a duty usually left to servants, though neither felt the need to call for any stranger at present. “A few days after you fell into the fits, he started socializing more with the other nobles. It even seemed as though he was becoming more pleasant - I haven’t heard of him killing anyone, at least. Lady Tasha has become a regular at his side. Not that it is unexpected, really. Did you know, they say he won’t take any servants for meals? It is quite the controversial scandal. Though, I suppose you would know.”

     An awkward laugh followed, but Kirin used the task at hand to focus his thoughts, eliminating the encroaching onslaught of emotion before it had the chance to seize him.A dark blue undershirt with a white blazer and trousers. It was likely not the most fashionable, but it seemed acceptable enough and easy to don - he did so, with a slow and methodical manner that had him very carefully securing each and every button as he considered what had happened.

     At least two weeks unconscious, during which Angeles had found other partners. It seemed unfair, to be abandoned whilst one could hardly prevent the matter. Not from inadequacy of self, but from the unfortunate circumstance. Disgusting, actually, that he would be treated such. Had the monster even bothered to care about his well being? Kirin wasn’t truly sure why he would, but it seemed like something that ought to be done. If the positions were reversed, he would have cared. He would have been with Riveh, at Angeles’ side. Perhaps that was the problem.

     There wasn’t any kind of vow broken - Angeles had been honest with his ways. He had made no commitments, yet it still felt bitter to think of, to envision Tasha - of all the low people - hanging over his sculpted body. He could have at least done better than her - perhaps that would have made it sting less, would have made his heart feel less like it was being wrenched out. A part of him doubted it, and simply told himself to ignore it.

     It occurred to him, somewhere amid his personal musing, that Riveh was still talking. He didn’t listen to what, however, and as he left the closet, changed and looking more presentable than a bed bug, her rambling stopped. A faint smile touched her lips, but before she could continue with whatever new train of thought had come to her, he lifted a hand and stated blandly, “I have to go see him.”

     There was no need to clarify who ‘he’ was, and as a shiver ran down his spine, he grew aware of the fact that there was no reason to go see him at all.


	34. Confrontation

     For the first time, meeting the gaze of those golden orbs did not fill him with an odd sort of euphoria, an allure that attracted him so keenly - no, instead it simply served as kindling for the emotions that raged just beneath the surface of his skin, setting them into a blaze that forced his lips into a firm frown, his brow to furrow with displeasure. Yet, not to lose control - no, his mind did not feel sluggish anymore. It would be irrational to become dramatic now, and uncalled for. And Riveh was still standing right there - his cool gaze shifted to her, and he forced a tight smile.

      “Angeles, I did not hear you come in - have you been getting along well with my sister?” It was the sort of awkward small talk that was designed to simply fill the air while he considered the best course of action.

     It was not a past time the other creature seemed interested in entertaining now. “Not particularly. I believe Riveh was just leaving, though.” For a brief moment, his traitorous heart forgot itself as it fluttered in his chest, remembering the utterly delicious timbre in his demon’s voice.

     But his senses were sharp enough to reprimand it, and frown once more as he started to speak, “No, she was n-.” “I really should give you two time to catch up!” Riveh’s voice caught him by surprise as she interjected, offering a strange sort of smile as she waved her hand. The furrow in her brow made him wonder at her compliance, and part of him suspected some ulterior motivation on her part. Which was frustrating, as he had been hoping to use her as an excuse to buy himself more time to consider the appropriate attack against this perfect monster.

     “I see… I’ll find you later,” he said with some measure of dejection as the woman bustled much too quickly towards the door, glancing back over her shoulder only once with a look that seemed near apologetic. But then, the guards were securing it behind her, and he was stuck in closed quarters with someone he had been truly hoping to go out and confront in public, where he would be less liable to fall into temptation.

     Even knowing this, however, the pang in his chest as he recalled the horrendous display given by Tasha was enough to squelch any desire whatsoever to do anything but bite Angeles’ head off - though he refrained from that much, just yet.

     The tall brute approached, too quickly, his arms sweeping out to embrace the slighter individual - he managed to nearly succeed before Kirin could react, pushing him away solidly and backing up to escape any further contact, “I would prefer you refrain from such an expression at present.” As diplomatic as possible seemed a safe route, though his voice could not have been verging any closer to venomous without becoming simply vile.

     The rejection seemed to come as a surprise, Angeles’ eyes narrowing slightly as he looked down upon his companion, his head tilting in a perplexing manner to observe the angry immortal closer - as though a new angle might provide further understanding. Kirin doubted it.

     “Why?” It was an innocent question, spoken in a casual tone.

     “You reek.” This wasn’t a lie - Angeles, who had such a pleasant natural aroma, the kind which could disarm an immortal by simply standing in his presence, was exuding something contorted and deformed from this lovely allure; it had become muddled with exposure to others, his body picking up the fragrances that nobles favored wearing, and at the forefront of them was the disgusting floral notes mixed with heavier cardamon that was favored by Tasha, and which she had been wearing very strongly just a short while ago in Kirin’s presence. Even without questioning his would-be lover, he felt it a confirmation of her claims.

     The answer caused a brief frown to darken the heavenly features of his companion, and when his voice came again, it was the closest thing to sulking Kirin had ever heard displayed by the beast, “By obligation, I have been forced to interact with the vulgar nobility here. This is their stench, not mine.”

     “ _Obligation_ ,” Kirin spat back, unwilling to play the game any further as he turned to escape proximity with his partner, moving towards the vanity set up in the room with every intention to fix his hair. Bed rest was never very beneficial for being presentable. “It was a path you chose for yourself, don’t complain now.”

     “Fair,” Angeles replied as he turned and followed the moving immortal. “You did not seem so displeased to see me earlier - should I have not given you time with your sister?”

     “If you had not, I imagine it would have only prolonged the shift in my mood.”

     “And do you intend to cease this pathetic display of avoidance?” That was cold, and cutting.

     Kirin glared at Angeles’ reflection before he spun about and stated sharply right back, “This is not a ‘pathetic’ display, it is an obvious implication that you should leave me alone, Angeles. I am aware of precisely who you have been mingling with in my absence, and it is sickening - and while I understand this was simply the natural progression for you, it has altered my feelings on the matter entirely.”

     “You could not have expected me to starve myself while you recovered,” the crimson haired demon stated with a harsh tone, one which made Kirin bristle and stand up straighter. He despised their difference in height right now, and strength and stature - it made it absolutely impossible to appear in any way intimidating, but he mustered whatever willpower and dignity he could to stand firm against the brute.

     “No, but I could have imagined a thousand other options for you to feed from - any one of them being perfectly acceptable with that being the end of it, since it is their job.” His tone was escalating, and he had to forcibly control it, lest he attract the attention of the guards outside. Who could likely hear the entirety of their conversation anyway. He groaned inwardly in shame, but even that was not enough to stop the onslaught that bubbled just beneath the surface. “Why don’t you just pick a nice servant like literally everyone else?!”

     “I don’t eat mortals.”

     “You - what?!” There was more to rage about, but Kirin found himself caught off guard by this answer, which seemed so entirely ludicrous to him. Though he had seen that this devil was fairly indiscriminate about what he chose to eat, he did not believe that diet excluded the very foundation of their staple, as a race.

     “I don’t eat mortals.” Repetition just made it seem more insane.

     “ _Why_? You enjoy cannibalism?” His brain was reeling, but he couldn’t help pressing this matter further.

     “It isn’t cannibalism. I don’t eat mortals for the same reason you don’t eat animals.” Angeles had stopped moving, standing a good ten feet away from Kirin. His voice was so blunt now, so matter of fact, that the other immortal was simply left gaping in confusion.

     “That isn’t the same!”

     “Are you so sure?” The question was chilling. His tone was icy, almost threatening, though his eyes did not hold within them malice. Kirin felt staggered nevertheless, and struggled to hold his ground.

     “It doesn’t matter. You didn’t have to choose her, and fuck her to boot.” Changing the subject back to what he was concerned about seemed wisest - he did not expect he would have gotten a straight answer even if he tried, and he honestly was afraid of what the answer might be if it was given. He wasn’t prepared to deal with that just now.

     “We aren’t exclusive,” Angeles said in a ponderous tone that resumed being one more approachable, less menacing, and it was somewhat of a comfort, even as his words were souring.

     “I am aware. That doesn’t mean I can’t find it disgusting,” Kirin answered in as cold a tone he could muster, which was biting.

     “Would you find it less disgusting with a different partner?”

     “Yes!” It was a reflex answer, and after a moment of consideration, the ebony haired immortal admitted, “No. I wouldn’t.”

     “But you were indisposed,” Angeles said too nonchalantly.

     That was too much - Kirin snapped. Flinging the nearest thing he could find - a hair brush, as that was already in his hand - he ranted viciously, “That is the fucking point! I couldn’t even try to stop you! What the hell is wrong with you-?!”

     Lips crushed against his own, stopping his tirade, stealing his breath too quickly to pull away. The brush had clattered harmlessly on the other side of the room, seamlessly dodged by a creature so inhuman, and this time his arms succeeded in wrapping around the slighter form of Kirin with a savage strength that pinned him in place. Pushing away was like fighting against steel chains - they were heavy and immovable. As a tongue threatened to deepen the kiss, it was so terribly insulting that Kirin did the only rational thing he could in this situation - opened his mouth to bite it, hard.

     That caused Angeles to recoil, at least from the kiss, his arms staying firmly locked in place around Kirin. Instead of anger or surprise, however, the crimson creature just began to chuckle; it was such a beautiful, disarming sound - yet it only further enraged Kirin, as he realized that this bastard did not care one bit about his emotions, or outlook, and wanted only self satisfaction. It was not a sudden revelation, but it was one that he hadn't wished to accept.

     “Let me go!” Though his level was mild, constrained, the intensity of seething rage was thick in his tone, dark violet eyes stabbing daggers at his partner.

     “No.” It was very matter of fact, and had too much mirth for their exchange thus far.

     “Angeles!” Exasperation was joining his breath.

     “Kirin!” Angeles mocked, a grin spreading on his lips that made the smaller man want to scream. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

     “Like hell you didn’t!” A gut reaction - he hadn’t expected any kind of denial, since their exchange until now was nothing but a confirmation.

     “I fed from her, but we never joined. I am capable of doing just that.” This would have sounded earnest if he didn’t sound so amused. It served to further irritate the small immortal.

     “Don’t lie to me, Angeles.” To his surprise, his voice came out sounding more hurt than angry - and that simply infuriated him more!

     “Do you trust her more than me?”

     That made Kirin pause. Though a reflex was quick to his lips, he took a moment to consider. Did he trust Tasha? Lady Difein had been introduced to him when he was very young. She was, in fact, originally betrothed to his eldest brother, Lysain, who was in line to inherit their family title of Duke of Arowai and the bulk of their fortune - which was, in recent decades, mostly his own creation. Tasha was a frequent of their home when Kirin was impressionable, in the pubescent period that found him awkwardly between boy and man. He had a terrible crush on her, and had been pleased she would become part of their family. For whatever reason, however, Lysain and Tasha did not get along well. He was not exactly a court socialite, and she needed the spotlight. Despite this, it came as a surprise when she was caught with one of their knights in the stable - and another, when she was found with a visiting lord from the isles.

     That is to say, Lysain broke off their engagement for valid reasons, such as he wouldn’t be sure if she birthed him any viable heirs. Tasha didn’t take it very well, and had festered some loathing for the family since. That being recalled - Kirin could reasonably say he knew and understood the immortal more than Angeles. She was vain and proud, with every reason to grasp for power and hurt an Unlair. He could rationalize that she would lie - knew her entirely capable of such - and imagined it may even be for the effect of harming him simply to attain what she desired.

     Despite this, the fact that he understood Angeles almost not at all, feared him part of the time, and the rest simply had an unnatural obsession and desire for him all combined to, in that moment, make the young nobleman feel entirely insecure.

     “I don’t trust you enough,” he answered carefully. The emotion was gone from his tone, calm allowed as he examined the situation with greater scrutiny, his own emotions through a more objective lens.

     The arms fell away from his slight form. Though he was not held in place, he did not move - nor did Angeles, who simply looked down at him with a puzzling expression; it was caught between frustration and concern. Then, in a moment, it was impassive once more. His voice was a fluid sound, but became detached; “I wanted to betray you. I had every intention of hurting you - that is why I chose her.”

     There, he paused, allowing the measure of his words to fully sink in. Kirin could not help but stare up at him - why? The question puzzled him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask, not once he took in the dark turmoil that filled those golden orbs. Liquid pools that swirled with something unspeakable, yet somehow so easily understood, as though it conveyed itself directly to the younger male’s heart; it made him feel queasy as his rage broiled next to a suddenly fluttering heart. Damnable bastard.

     “You haven’t been asleep the whole time. I was waiting for you to recover.”

     It was almost enough. Angeles had a certain charm, a dastardly charisma that made an individual want to love him, want to need him, want to bend to whatever he desired - at least, this is what Kirin had come to believe was the explanation for the inexplicable draw the man seemed to exude. Yet, one inhale reminded him of Tasha, and he couldn’t help but imagine her pressing her soft, idioticly attractive body up against the perfection that was Angeles, and it made him suddenly want no part of the exchange.

     Rationality deduced that this entire situation made no sense - perhaps that is what invoked the sudden scoff that Kirin displayed, as he turned away to move out of reach, grasping onto what he understood and felt confident in. “Stop it. Don’t feel as though you have some obligation to me, Angeles. If you want to sleep with someone else, there is physically no way I can prevent it, and I don’t think I want to try.”

     “Do you remember nothing, then?”


	35. Trust Issues

     There was a certain cadence in his tone that warned Kirin there was more to this question - an intrigue which begged inspection - but he refused to turn and examine the crimson devil for any clues. It felt too much like a trap.

     “I remember Rahil leaving,” Kirin answered, honestly. Even that was a hazy memory that seemed distant and half imagined. Thereafter, it was all foggy and fragmented, bits and impressions that meant nothing to a mind clear and attentive - save his last nightmare, which lingered vividly on the outskirts of his consciousness.

     “Then you don’t desire to possess me any longer?” Another trap.

     “How exactly would I accomplish that, Angeles?” His tone was more heated than he intended to allow, but that hardly surprised him - while stoicism was a pride of his family, it was difficult to maintain around someone who broiled his emotions so openly.

     “Trying would be a start.” That sounded almost hurt - but then again, he was quite sure it was impossible to injure that brute, even emotionally. It was vastly more likely that the fiend couldn't even feel, and had just honed very believable imitations of such displays.

     “What is the point, if I cannot trust you?” Looking back now would be akin to suicide -the mere sight of Angeles made his mind foggy, made his heart unstable, and made his resolve waver. It was much easier to remember how completely infuriated the whole situation made him. And to forget the confidence he had just a few days ago - weeks? It must have been weeks. As well as ignore the fact that something may have happened between them whilst he was unconscious, or delusional - the curious part of him, ever insatiable, wanted to ask and pursue that further, but he was unsure he wanted to know what happened. Or could he even trust it? Until know, he did not believe Angeles had a habit of lying, but did he really know?

     “Trust requires some measure of faith, Kirin,” Angeles spoke fluidly, with a patience that was frankly impressive at this point - the man could have left by now, or gotten angry himself, or done any measure of unpleasant acts to cease this conversation. Killing Kirin would have been simpler than engaging in this senseless banter.

     It was at that moment, when a sudden epiphany settled in the cogs of his mind, and the raven haired creature turned at last to face his companion, steeled by new inspiration.

     “Trust works both ways,” he began, his voice carefully devoid of the heat previously displayed, dispassionate but not cold.

     The beautiful compilation of features that made up Angeles’ visage shifted in curiosity, arching a fine brow above those dark glowing eyes. “Yes,” he agreed in a cautious tone.

     “Do you want me to trust you?”

     It was purposefully loaded, and Angeles was not a daft man - the matter seemed to intrigue him, if his posture was to give any indication; he drew his arms up in front of him, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and for a brief moment, Kirin was caught up in marveling at how impressive he looked in the navy suit he was presently decked out in. The tailor had perfectly crafted the fabric to compliment and contour his physique, while the dark hue was a captivating contrast against his olive complexion and dark sanguine hair. It was positively bewitching - fortunately, he was still irritated enough that the spell didn't keep, and Angeles looking so dashing just made him begin to fester some quiet resentment.

     “Stop asking questions which have such obvious answers,” Angeles stated plainly, at least appearing to understand that Kirin was serious about the matter.

     “I hate when you do that,” the young immortal retorted sharply, though he did not allow it to deter him from his chosen course. Taking a deep breath, to steady his voice and clear out any lingering irritation, he spoke clearly, “Do you trust me?”

     “Whatever trust I possessed is shrinking by the moment,” the brute replied with such a natural flourish it was positively unfair to every other voice there ever was. “Come now, stop playing games.”

     The callous nature of his answer was too irksome - the young noble no longer thought finding some common ground was a particularly good option. With a grunt of frustration, he turned away, moving back towards the bed as he stated bluntly, “Forget it. Go away already, Angeles, I do not want to see you any more. I feel faint just thinking about continuing this exchange.”

     And that was it - silence filled the space in the room once more, a stillness that served to slowly smooth over the prickled aggravation that had been summoned by the altercation. As the slight male sat down on the unmade bed, he was almost able to convince himself the peace would linger. But, he could still smell that twisted aroma filling the air, felt the presence that had not in fact departed, but merely allowed the stretch of quiet for some purpose Kirin would not question. It wasn’t so much a surprise as it was a fresh torment when Angeles appeared striding around the edge of the bed, approaching his side; yet his fluid dropping to his knees and reaching out to take the smaller, pale hands of Kirin into his own was quite unexpected.

     “Tempestuous creature,” Angeles spoke in a soft, lulling tone that was too sweet - it roused within the younger being a spiteful groan as he murdered the desire that attempted to take form for his companion. “We are of a divisive nature, in which you desire something very tangible for things I find to be obvious. That is perhaps unfair of me. What, precisely, would make you feel more at ease?”

     It was odd to realize that this was the same creature that could rip an immortal to shreds without breaking a sweat, and he was presently trying to appease what had very rapidly become a tantrum from Kirin. A completely justified one, but still, he understood that the situation had certainly spiraled in an increasingly ludicrous direction. It was surreal, unbelievable - and it made him want to trust Angeles. What was he, though, this enigmatic monster? What if he decided to hurt Kirin, or his family? Was there anything that could stop him? Paranoia clawed its way back into the forefront of his thoughts, but he attempted to sound rational when he spoke.

      “I want your blood.”

      “Pardon?” There was only a brief flutter of disbelief that flickered over Angeles’ expression before a darkness settled in his golden gaze, turning it into a glower as he further inquired, “Do you mean drink it?”

     “No. In a container,” Kirin answered as simply and vaguely as possible.

     “Why?” There was an edge to the question, but it was not enough to daunt the noble.

     “Because I am asking you for it.”

     A dark, sanguine brow lifted into a fine arch as he studied his companion with unspoken scrutiny. After a moment, he stated in a cool tone, “You would not drink it.”

     “As enticing as you smell when you are clean - no. Why does that concern you, though?” It was Kirin’s turn to arch a brow, tilting his head slightly as he returned the inquisitive nature right back to Angeles.

     “Someday,” he answered fluidly. “This would be for you, and not another?”

     “My own purposes.”

     “And you would cease this fit?”

     “I will investigate the matter further,” Kirin stated honestly. “With a more objective approach.”

     Angeles grunted at that. “You ask a great deal without offering very much in return.”

     “I have given you my blood very willingly,” Kirin retorted hotly. “And repeatedly. One time doesn’t seem very much by comparison.” There was a hint of a jest in that, and it occurred to him that it was becoming more difficult to stay angry with the brute.

     “It is safe to say that the situation was somewhat different, but I take your point,” Angeles continued in a tone which implied he had acquiesced. “So long as you promise this is for you, and you will not drink it, I will trust you with whatever convoluted purpose you might have for such a request.”

     “I give you my word,” Kirin answered plainly, and pulled free his hands to search for the glass vial that was once on the nightstand. It was moved at some point in his unconscious state, and he found it stowed safely within the drawer - perhaps a kindness from his loving sister - from which he handed it to the crimson haired beast.

     As he accepted it, his expression shifted briefly into a pensive frown. “Was this something you were planning?”

     “No questions,” Kirin replied as casually as he could, simply because he was unsure how exactly to explain the request. And part of him was beginning to feel uncomfortable with it - he had been expecting a refusal, reassurance that Angeles was untrustworthy, something to support the paranoia that made him need to know more, or anything, without waiting for his companion to tell him everything. It was beginning to feel foolish. If the demon was someone that cared for Kirin, was an individual he cared for in return, if he had not taken the first opportunity to savor every available individual at court who had no doubt been throwing themselves at him - it felt as though this would be a betrayal of faith. Using his blood to open a book that he couldn’t even read, but possibly giving ammunition to someone he didn’t entirely trust.

     His stomach was suddenly knotting as his beautiful monster complied to his bizarre request, dragging his nail down the line of his wrist, spilling forth a stream of dark liquid that he dripped into the uncorked vial. The cut attempted to heal too quickly, Kirin noted, but Angeles kept his nail pressed down, forcing the flow to continue until the container was full. The deed finished, and the cork securely replaced, the usurper king offered it back to the dark haired immortal; on an impulse, the slight creature reached out, grasping either side of Angeles’ face as he pulled him into a kiss.

     Hot and eager, he parted his lips and allowed his tongue to slip out, seeking forgiveness from the counterpart he had very brutishly abused not so long ago and indulging in the flavor that was so uniquely Angeles. Fortunately, unlike the prior attempts at affection which Kirin mercilessly thwarted, this was a very welcome imposition on his partner, who reached up with his empty hand and pressed more forcefully into the exchange; his teeth scraped harshly against Kirin’s lips, his tongue burning in his mouth, bringing some sense of dizzy delirium further that warned him this could very swiftly spiral out of control.

     It was easy to fall prey to doubt - to fret, and worry, and allow personal insecurities to convince one to rationalize and explain things which are difficult to process and swallow. Yet, no matter how irritated or pained Kirin felt, there was no denying the bubble of euphoric pleasure that filled him as he watched this terrifying devil listen to his desire, yield to give him some peace of mind, demonstrate something undeniably selfless for the benefit of his partner. In that moment, he would have happily done something very brutal to Tasha for even daring to imply she had a claim on this crimson king, that she could possibly possess even the smallest part of him.

     But then, he could still smell her, clinging to his monster like some unwanted fungus, and it managed to sour the fierce desire that was making itself increasingly known in his loins. The young immortal pulled back, parting the wet kiss with an exasperated sigh. Leaning back, drawing himself up into proper posture, he retrieved the vial from his companion with a careful touch; the glass had warmed from its fresh contents, and holding it gave him an odd nauseous yet giddy feeling which he decided would need further examination later.

     “Thank you - but you still smell. Terrible.”

     That devastatingly beautiful laugh filled the room as Angeles moved to stand, briefly brushing his clawed finger tips against Kirin’s cheek. “I will bathe before you see me next. And leave you, to consider matters further, and perhaps do your ‘investigation’.” Shifting to leave, his footfalls, slow and deliberate, were all that filled the air for half the length of the room, before he chose to add, “There is a banquet of some sort tonight. It would be a pleasure if you would join, and save me from the company of literally everyone else.”

     “Perhaps I will,” Kirin answered, twisting to look back at his departing companion.

     Amethyst met gold and held fast, entrapped by the sudden intensity within those smoldering depths. Carefully, in a tone that cut straight to the core, Angeles added, “I trust you, Kirin. You’re mine.”

     Then, in an instant, he was gone. His somewhat oppressive essence left the room, leaving the newly recovered immortal feeling breathless and thoroughly confused with where he stood, emotionally speaking. Fortunately, he had some time to consider things before he needed to decide whether he would face the public or not.


	36. Interlude

Something was very wrong.

     Rahil could not help thinking this over and over again over the past two weeks, following his anticlimatic return to his homeland, the expansive northern rolling hills and fields of Arowai. He traveled with the bulk of the military force under his command, thousands immortal men. They had been gathered as a show of force, used to capture the capital, and now were utilized to hold the small city of D’Nair, which was just south of Unur, whose ruins still sent smoke up into the air. A perimeter had been set up around the city, and the border that lined the feral mountains even further north. Yet still, every night there were attacks.

     It wasn’t normal, these attacks. The Lowlanders had never, in the entire history he had known, gathered enough organization skills to mount regular assaults. They simply lacked the intellect needed to perform strategy. Setting the city on fire had been a stretch, and he had honestly suspected it the work of immortals under subterfuge; he was fully prepared to route out an evil plot, to persecute the guilty parties, to reassure his people of their security and then return to the capital to aid his siblings in their struggles; but nothing had gone to plan since the first night his forces arrived.

    The tall Unlair lord stood upon the makeshift battlements that had been put into place following the first wave of attacks, and stood at a field that was plastered with crimson blood. Immortal blood. Lowlander blood. Human blood. The stench of it mingled with the aroma of bodies as they were burned, causing a thick miasma to hang in the air and churn his stomach in a most nauseating way. Every night, the beasts had attacked. But never the same way twice. The first night had been the worst, when a horde of them, countless hundreds, perhaps thousands, had charged his first legion at midnight. It was a short but brutal battle, much akin to their foe, and had taken several of his men. Certainly, by comparison to the damage that was done to his opponent, it was a victory by far, but any loss of life was extremely damaging to immortals - especially when it was witnessed by an entire city of humans, who had been becoming increasingly horrified by the fact that the attacks were persisting.

     They were guerrilla assaults now, small bands that targeted scouts and patrols, but each one had led to casualties. That was simply unheard of - and had forced Rahil to realize the very chilling fact that lowlanders were not simply vermin beneath the shoe of an immortal, but could pose a very real threat when they acted with such a hive-like mentality bent on organized killing. He needed to know why they were attacking, how, but no prisoners could be managed - thus far, those which had been acquired had died shortly after being brought back to camp, and none had the capacity or desire to speak, as far as the commander was concerned.

     “It is very unsettling.”

     The smooth tones originated from Hali, his squire. A young man of a lesser Unlair house, the boy had the hallmark ebony hair of the family with beautiful jade eyes that he had certainly gotten from a foreign bloodline. Shorter than Rahil, but likely taller than his younger brother Kirin, Hali was a stoutly built lad with a happy disposition, though he had been looking increasingly somber, along with the rest of the troops, as they all observed the ominous events happening in their outlands. There was no need for the older immortal to question what, exactly, was unsettling, and thus when his harsh tone came in reply, it was an answer to an unspoken inquiry.

     “We’ll not understand why if we continue to simply allow them to steer the battle.”

     “M’Lord?” Hali had stopped behind Rahil now, was standing on the wooden path that lined the topped of their hastily erected perimeter wall - hasty, but likely still a very protective wall, a testament to the talent of a well trained army of immortals.

     “They are studying us, when we should be studying them,” he continued in a manner which simply expected comprehension. A glance of steely cobalt eyes towards his companion informed him that was hardly the case, met with furrowed brows and a concerned stare.

     A moment later, and understanding spread throughout the younger man’s features, and his eyes turned out towards the far reaching expanse of mountains. They were black, barren, and filled with dozens of caves and underground caverns, if the histories could be trusted, within which the lowlanders found refuge from the sun and judgement of society. They had always been regarded as the scourge of the earth, though there was very little that was truly known about the beasts. Or perhaps, Rahil lamented with great regret, he had simply never tried hard enough to study a possible enemy.

     “Do you have a plan?” Hali questioned further after the silence persisted into an uncomfortable duration.

     A long, exasperated sigh was his answer as the commander brought his hand up to push back the short strands of his hair that were tickling the edge of his forehead, only to have them flick rebelliously back - a sign that he was long overdue for appropriate grooming.

     “I’ll think of one,” was all he could manage before he turned and strode off in his brooding manner which indicated to the younger man that he should not follow.

     The sapphire tent that had served as his home for the past fortnight had never seen battle before - it had been a gift, actually, from his sister-in-law; which explained why it was rather warm regardless of the season, built by people who often endured the cold. Not a long walk from the battlements, especially when no one dared accost him on the journey, so obviously irate that he was, it still seemed to take an eternity for the immortal to find the calm of his solitude, to fall down with an uncomfortable clang of armor onto his feather bed - for immortals were nothing if not impractical in war, as they had grown so unaccustomed to the act - and did his best to calculate the wisest course of action while also allowing his mind some respite in sleep, so few and far between were the hours for such these days.

     Already laying awake in his tent, there was no surprise to be found within the noble creature when he heard the steady drums that sounded a return of the scouts, nor the horn that followed shortly, which indicated some misfortune had occurred on the mission. He was out of his tent before the messenger, winded from sprinting, had even come near enough to call for his attention, and therefore simply waved the poor lad off while he headed for the edge of camp. His sour expression was more of a deterrent in convincing the soldier to not persist in delivering his message, if truth be told, but that wasn’t news to Rahil.

     However, on the subject of honesty, there could be no denying the surprise that the immortal experienced when he did arrive at the wooden gates which enclosed their encampment. Over the last few weeks, wounded soldiers had become a norm. The bodies of his fellow immortals, deformed and deceased, had become too regular to deny. But the sight of four soldiers dragging a woman no larger than his little sister in cast iron chains as she jerked and protested in vile language, her eyes blood red with the lust of the low landers - that was surprising for the man, for he had not seen one so full of vitality returned to camp.

     Hali was already there, his sword drawn cautiously along with a small contingency of men; at the sight of Rahil’s approach, the younger man nodded respectfully, maintaining his attention on the vulgar fiend that had barely been forced through the gate.

     “Report,” came the short, course tone of the commander directed to everyone and no one at the same time - there was simply an expectation that the most knowledgeable of the gathering would submit the necessary information.

     Naturally, someone did, in the form of the young captain Ka’Vir, a spirited immortal with russet hair that had never irritated him until his recent acquaintanceship with a certain annoying usurper. “We were scouting along the craggy coast when my squad came upon one of the lowland caves. Since the sun was yet in the sky, we investigated, and came upon a small band of this disgusting creatures. We were able to eliminate the other three, and contain this one, Commander. But, she has given us some difficulty.”

     The stout woman spoke with the eloquence that her station granted her with ease, being from a noble family as most of his commanding officers were. Not exactly an attractive individual, she made up for her misfortune from birth with a most pleasant cadence and manner of speech that drew all attention to her, even when those silky ones were contained in the formal demeanour that her work required; it was a quality he had always admired. He tried to focus on that fact as he stared at her with a stony gaze to harsh to be deserved, feeling a familiar irritation mixing with anger at the sight of her reddish brown hair that was nothing truly akin to the crimson hair of the man who stole his little brother, but was somehow associated with it in his mind.

     A curt nod was offered in acknowledgement as he shifted his full attention to the frantic beast that took the shape of a woman. Long blond tresses that were likely once quite beautiful - or perhaps simply would have been, if properly cared for - fell around her like caught cobbed web, tangled and haphazard, stuck through with an assortment of unpleasant filth that he did not care to identify. Her skin was pasty, made worse by the light of the moon, causing the pale to become a faint blue and giving her a malnourished, anemic appearance that was a startling contrast to the deep crimson of her eyes. Like fresh oxygenated blood, the sanguine hue glowed in the full moon’s light, containing a frenetic energy that he could only attribute to the madness of her race.

     That was, of course, until her eyes fell upon him.

     All at once, her motion stilled, her body not even heaving with the exertion of her breath - for the lowlanders did not breath, if he remembered properly from some lesson he had once been instructed in. Her pale, near platinum lashes would have been indivisible if not for how she tilted her head slightly, catching the moonrays at just the right angle, making the demon appear angelic, if only for the briefest of instants, as her expression seemed to twist into something pitiable.

     Rahil’s own expression was stoic, as per his usual, though his mind was reeling with questions that suddenly spurred to the front, confusion at her radical shift, and before he could completely calculate and process the circumstance, the entire company was chilled by the sound of her voice - cold but sweet, like wintery death cloying at the fall harvest. “What sudden fortune this is,” she began with too much composure for a beast in woman flesh. Sanguine eyes shifted slowly, from Rahil to the surrounding men, and then onto Hali, scanning him with a slow, careful deliberance that seemed at odds with her nature, with any nature he had studied within the bizarre monsters. “And what a pretty bobble.”

     A slight brow managed to break the indifference in the commander’s expression at that turn of phrase, but before he could consider the meaning behind it, before anyone could truly, the situation changed utterly and completely.

     The sound of chains snapping was deafening to the hyper sensitivity f the immortal ears, and quickly succeeded by the shouts of protest and attempts to restrain the woman as she vaulted over the gate as though it were a mere stump blocking the trail. It took a moment for Rahil’s mind to fully process what he had witnessed; the woman had, very quickly, broken the chains that contained her. Then, without much hesitation, she had reached out to take something from around Hali’s neck, and in the same motion, turned tail to jump over the wall.

     When such actions were done at speeds swift even for an immortal,the reality of the situation could take time to fully grasp. However, Rahil seemed to make such conclusions a moment slower than Hali, for the young lad was shouting a blasphemy and barking an order for some soldiers to follow him as he charged through the gates, forcing them open once more beneath the sudden fury in his spirit. There was not time for curiosity to take a part in Rahil’s mind, only for him to follow after his young cousin, to shout for the rest to stay put as he attempted to stop his kin from plunging into the night’s unknown.

     “Stop, you bloody fool, where are you going?!”

     For the first time in a long time, his dear cousin did not heed his orders, even when the men around him stopped trailing him and turned to respect the command of their leader. Rahil rushed by them, armor clanging uncomfortably around him, and caught up to the heels of the younger man in time to hear him say, “I’ll kill that wench!”

     It was a very surprising night, and a very dark one, despite the full moon. As they pursued the unknown lowlander, neither could have expected what would come next.

Or that neither would be seen again.


	37. The Party

     There was a dull sort of silence that lingered in the room long after the conversation had ceased, during which Kirin found himself staring at the vial that rested once more upon his nightstand. Absently, he wondered what sort of sickness he had - symptoms seemed to have dissipated, and he felt neither fatigued or hungry. It was also somewhat puzzling that a doctor had not come to check on him, despite the fact he had every reason to believe the whole palace must be quite aware of his sudden recovery.

     Now, without the interference of another living soul, his mind was allowed to wander and contemplate all that had come to pass; at the forefront of such was the memory of his nightmare, of the haunting book and the vial that he now possessed to open it. There was no possible way that Angeles could not be highly suspicious of the request - what could he possibly be fathoming Kirin could want the sample for, if not something extremely bizarre? More passively, he wondered what drinking it would do - what drinking the blood of an immortal in general would cause, since such was a forbidden act. Angeles was old enough, part of him considered whether or not he could have been a reason for that particular law to be placed. It seemed likely enough, given his interactions with the abnormal creature.

     Trust needed faith - it was an odd thing for an immortal to have. It was something that they regularly relied upon with the interactions they engaged in with humans, beings that were very willing to believe and trust in that which they did not understand, who developed stories about beings beyond this plane that created everything, but immortals did not hold such varied philosophy. Knowledge and power were passed through the generations, and the only thing revered were their ancestors, as it was believed - and usually proven true - that age increased the innate strength of an immortal, even as it wore away at their ability to function. They were an odd species, to be certain.

     Just then, a knock rapped upon the door behind him, the guard announcing the arrival of a valet. Kirin allowed the entrance, and was thankful for the momentary distraction that it allowed as he stood and accepted the servant’s help finishing dressing himself. The young mortal had fair platinum hair, a broad stretch to his frame which he had not yet grown into, and a tender disposition, which made him very quiet as he worked and timid when dealing with the nobleman. The warm aroma that he exuded was oddly familiar, and brought to mind crimson hair and golden eyes - which Kirin quickly tried to forget, since his mind warned him that it wasn’t actually that familiar at all.

     Without thinking too much of it, the dark haired lord allowed his garments to be changed to something more suitable for public conception; a dark maroon suit, an ebony silk doublet, and a pale cream dress shirt. He left his collar opened slightly, since he felt oddly constricted as the valet pinned on his family crest, and proceeded to offer his a belt and jeweled cuff links. Neither were his; he was presently out of the capacity to be bothered by it.

     When the servant departed, he found himself at a loss for what to do - but there was still time before the banquet, which he had subconsciously decided to go to, if for no other reason than to investigate the truth of what happened in his absence. In the interim, he found himself wandering idly down the halls, and heading towards the gardens.

     The air had become warm and humid, the season shift in the wind; it was reflected in the animals, the birds that sang in the trees, and the way the flowers in the royal gardens bloomed. There was a subtly smothering sensation that accompanied the warm weather, one he had never taken much mind to but had often overheard mortals complaining about, and only now did he understand why.

     His chest felt heavy; it was difficult for him to decide whether he was more upset over the reality that Angeles was leaving him for the court tramp, or the fact that he was allowing his own paranoia to enable those beautiful crimson strands of hair to just slip through his fingertips. Jealousy was an ugly thing, yet it was one which the immortal race was all too familiar with - proud, vain creatures that were accustomed to being the best at everything did not take competition very well.

     He’d felt it only a handful of times in his life. When his dog decided it loved Riveh more than himself - jealousy. When Lysain wed his beautiful and mildly horrifying wife, and Kirin realized that he was losing a brother as much as he was gaining a sister - jealousy. When he was compared to the more talented predecessors of his line and anyone else’s that had once played any sort of instrument - jealousy.

     But never had he felt it over an object of anything so personal or romantic - it was never as a result of a personal failing he felt actually mattered or would have great impact on him. It didn’t even make sense, as most immortals enjoyed very open and fluid exchanges of affection that meant nothing more than the gratification of the moment, and until now, he had strong evidence to support the fact this was the only basis for his interactions with Angeles. Perhaps more complicated than most situations, but it fit the bill.

     A distant howl warned him of the progression of time, and while he reveled in the play of shadows, the increasingly cool tones that came alive in the night, it also occurred to him that the banquet would have started long ago.

     Lady Tasha would be there, making some fake speech about her happiness for her family’s good fortune, or how Kirin had recovered, or how she might soon be planning a royal wedding. She’d laugh and throw herself at anyone close enough with a pulse to attract as much attention from the room as was possible, perhaps aiming to catch the attention of Angeles himself, to rouse from him some display of possession or jealousy. And when that didn’t work, he could just imagine her making some excuse to approach the beautiful demon, to press her bust against his arm, to run her fingers over his chest, suggestively down, attempting to entice him in a faux-coy display of erotic court flirtations.

     Then, the Angeles of his imagination would grow tired of her presence, of her stench, of her handsy nature and offensive speech, and would delicately curl his hand around her neck - as if to caress her. He would drop down, and bring his lips just a breath away, so that she could smell him, imagine him, burn with a desire that filled up her whole being. Then his fingers would contract, slowly at first, but with a purposeful vice, like a constrictor gently crushing its pray. At first, she wouldn’t understand, would imagine it a game, a naughty allure that only further stimulated her desire - but then her breath would catch in her throat, her airway collapse, the pressure building until it caused veins to burst, to bleed - to drown her in her own stupidity.

     One of the guards behind interrupted his mental reverie, a deep voice which inquired, “Are you sure you are well enough, my Lord?”

     Turning to glance back at them, the young immortal managed a faint smile, attempting to be reassuring as he realized they were stalking him all the while - luckily, they were donning his family crest, which eliminated any suspicious he may have had for the situation. Vaguely, he thought he remembered Rahil leaving him with protection, or some such. “It is fine,” he answered, just then realizing that he had somehow made it to the banquet hall from the garden without actually remembering changing his course. That was unsettling, and did not reflect well on his present state of mind. He could hear the commotion on the other side of socializing nobility.

     Taking a brief breath, calming himself as best he could, he nodded once more and the other guard, a man with a softer tone of voice, instructed the attendant at the door to announce his arrival.

     It felt very odd, this normal event; it was something he had done a thousand and one times before, yet that felt like a different world. One where the king was not a murderous tyrant, and he had never learned what it was like to live in filth. The memory of it caused him to shudder, but he recovered in time to pass through the threshold with a semblance of the composure he recalled having once.

     “Lord Kirin Unlair of Arowai.”

     The attendant had a strong, loud voice for such a petite personage, standing shorter even than Kirin. It was distracting to contemplate how such a small mortal managed it, and something to think about instead of how very quiet the room suddenly was, and how fifty odd pairs of eyes were turned towards him at that very moment. It was a generous gathering for an informal event, which he assumed this was given the banquet hall it was being held in - off the east wing - but that wasn’t as unsettling as the fact very few pairs of eyes looked in any way relieved to see his recovery. In fact, as he began to walk further in, approaching the table and the nearest people he recognized, the soft murmur of chatter that began anew was oddly hushed in such a conspiratorial manner he half expected that they all believed he had desecrated their ancestors or was prancing around half naked.

     A cursory check assured him that his garments were all securely in place.

     Lady Lyla stood next to her suitor, looking vibrant in her dark sapphire gown with her hair up in beautiful ringlets. To his delight, Riveh stood near the pair, and it was to her that he approached, reaching out to claim her hands and kiss both of her cheeks in greeting.

     “Kirin!” There was such joy in her voice, it made him remember that he was certainly welcome in this environment, no matter how alien he felt at present.

     “Lord Kirin, I am so happy to see you up and about!” Lyla sounded earnest enough as well, though as one of Riveh’s closest friends, this was not exactly a surprise to him.

     Somehow, he managed a polite smile that did not meet his eyes, but seemed to cause enough reassurance in his newfound company that he was not fretted by it, “Lady Lyla, Lord Brast, sister. It warms my heart to see such friendly faces.” The words were obligatory more than they were in earnest, though they were not necessarily given in falsehood; at present, seeing them was comforting, although it did not quite ease the anxiety gripping in his chest. The hushed voices were gradually returning to the usual rumble of communication that these mass gatherings feature, in which one could hardly be involve in more than a conversation with one’s closest companions. That was reassuring as well.

     The throng of people had started to move, and several had recalled the rules of etiquette; nobles he was acquainted with were moving from their place at the table to approach him, and the slight immortal was obligated to turn and accept their half-hearted well wishes as he held onto his sister’s hand. Between the insincerity of their greetings, the other Unlair sibling leaned over to whisper covertly into his ear, “The witch has been vying for the king’s attention all evening. Her shameful display has been most amusing.”

     At the mention of such, he could not help his violet eyes turning towards the head of the table, across the room from his arrival, where another gathering of nobles was persisting. Seated in a chair that was overly ornate, a deliberate differentiation from the rest of the gold embellished set, was the familiar figure of his demon. Though his line of sight was somewhat obscured, he could identify that Angeles was looking quite polished and gentlemanly, his long hair pulled back into a fashionable low tail, slicked back from his face in a manner which made his striking features all the more shocking and severe. He wore a deep violet suit trimmed in ebony and embellished with gold, though the details were difficult to discern from such a distance.

     And leaning against his right shoulder, in a crimson gown which was much too revealing to be currently fashionable, he would have bet, was Lady Tasha. Her lovely features were accentuated by the generous application of cosmetics, done in such a flawless manner that the ignorant might have actually believed she had a natural touch of scarlet to her eyelid, or that her lips were always the shade of fresh spilled blood. There was no doubting her appeal, and aim of her attention and ensemble. It was enough to make his stomach tighten with a grotesque sensation he could not identify with.

     Meanwhile, he was forced to appear at least mildly civil while Lady Jani wished him better health and prosperity during these uneasy times. The immortal was beyond her prime, but had never liked the long sleep, so simply occupied her self advocated senior role at court. He did not dislike her, per se, but he could very well care less about the story that she began into about the time she survived the sun sickness, only to later find out it was nothing more than a mild case of light allergies.

     Riveh was eyeing him in a mischeivous, knowing manner when his attention returned to his present company, a slight smile on her lips telling him that she was either plotting something, or had already put something into motion. His guess was the former, since her gaze was too intent on him to prove the latter. Unless she was putting glue on his seat again, but he was reasonably sure she had grown out of such behavior… In public.

     “What?” he questioned in such a soft tone only her sensitive ears might detect it.

     “He was staring at the door most expectantly,” was her answer.

     “Who?” He didn’t need to ask.

     The roll of her eyes that answered him was answer enough that she knew he understood her meaning perfectly well. “You have to knock her ego down a peg or two, or she will be completely intolerable. And she already is quite intolerable enough.”


	38. With Dramatic Flair

     “Don’t be dramatic.” Kirin spoke blandly.

     “Don’t be mild mannered!” There was expectation in her tone, but it maintained a soft intensity that was shared between them. A frown threatened his expression, and he glanced back towards the head of the table once more.

     Golden eyes were directed upon him, though he noted they lacked any certain expression. At most, they were bored, and observed him as they might the leaves blowing in the wind. That didn’t prevent his heart from picking up the pace at the very thought of those stunning orbs focusing upon him, or the memory that such a sight brought to the fore of his mind. The young noble kept that subdued for the moment. The stream of people was done with, for the moment, and most everyone was back to their own personal conversations when Kirin decided to do his due diligence and greet the host - something that etiquette demanded sooner or later, though he took his time in making his way around the crowded table towards the front, curiously observing Angeles all the while. As always, the man was looking very stunning in his tailored suit, this one a deep violet hue trimmed in black with small gold embellishments.

     Miss Nina noticed him first, and he half expected she was on watch duty for such an act, meandering as she was at the edge of the table with a half-dozing nobleman Kirin couldn’t quite place in his mind.

     “Oh, you are looking much better, Lord Kirin,” she said in her soft, mousy way, a sour shrillness to her tone that grated his nerves and forced his lavender gaze towards her. As per usual, the dainty creature was looking overdressed in a sapphire studded gown, her ginger hair glittering with small gems, and her complexion none the better for the blush that accented her pallid tone. Some might have thought her pretty; Kirin was not among them, finding the array gaudy and superficial. Though that was the foundation of his society, so it was likely hypocritical of him to harbor such internal censor - he would do it anyway.

     “Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour!” The buxom brunette knew how to draw attention to herself, her silken tones elevated enough to beg the attention of half the room, with the other half belatedly realizing something was occurring and slowly paying heed to it all the same. There was a dramatic pause allowed for them to do just that, as Lady Tasha straightened herself up from whatever whisper she had been leeching into Angeles’ ear.

     Scarlet was her color of choice for the evening, and she sported it very well in her tightly cinched corset gown. The cut was too low - no doubt by careful deliberation - and the sleeves were useless sweeps of fabric that draped gently over each shoulder. Gold and rubies clung to her neck in a stunning choker, with a matching set of chains and rings decorating her hair and right hand. Heavy ringlets of her full mane cascaded effortlessly over her left shoulder - in a single instant, she could outshine anyone in the hall, and such was flaunted openly in this moment as their glowing hostess.

     “Lords and Ladies, I bid you to join me in celebrating the remarkable rejuvination of our young Lord Kirin!” He forced a smile while she politely clapped her hands together, encouraging the room to follow her, before she claimed a full glass of crimson liquid from a passing waiter.

     Internally cringing, Kirin prepared himself for the most insincere toast he would likely ever hear.

     “Great unjustice has befallen the Unlairs of late, and I wish to commemorate - to congratulate - their continued health and prosperity in this time of great turmoil and transition. May the family continue to thrive for eons to come, and may you return safely to Arowai in full recovery!” There was a smirk to her smile that made the young lord thankful for his poker face, as he accepted a glass of blood offered from another waiter, and as the sound of the toast echoed in the room.

     “To Lord Kirin!” She finished with a bravado that was unnecessary, and a sudden twist as she downed her drink. Seemingly by accident, her feet tangled beneath her and caused her to fall back… Directly into Angeles’ lap, who had to this point, been looking most dull in the chair next to her, silent and impassive in his observation of the room around him. At the sudden delivery of the damsel to his lap, the man managed only to hike on brow up over a golden eye, his gaze shifting from Tasha towards Kirin, and then back again.

     The young immortal did not touch his drink, and was feeling a sudden loss of all appetite at the vulgar sight before him. It was not even that inappropriate - no, the immortals were known for rather overt displays of affection and passion, and quite commonly at these informal gatherings they were featured. Therefore, no gasps of shock or awe were heard, but instead hearty laughter as Tasha blushed prettily and smiled wryly, leaning up and situating herself more comfortably upon Angeles.

     “Oh, how clumsy of me, my greatest apologies, your Highness,” she murmured in a soft, sultry tone that indicated the conversation was no longer for public attention. And, as most parties go, the vast majority of onlookers had lost interest directly following the speech and the rumble of conversation was beginning anew. Kirin had stopped only a few seats from the table’s head, and therefore had the best vantage to witness the outrageous display first hand; he was not naive enough to think this anything but completely orchestrated for his benefit, as well.

     “Or, perhaps I am simply claiming a seat?” The vixen went on to purr, lifting a hand stroke the chiseled cheek of the ever popular usurper king, drawing his golden eyes down to her sea green hues, an attempt to captivate if ever there was one. No doubt, the tactic had worked time and again with a plethora of men. Why wouldn’t this one be any different?

     Surely, Angeles would not suffer such a flagrant display, Kirin told himself. Any moment now, he would be deposing the woman from his lap, perhaps most violently. However, the moment passed, and then another, and then Tasha was pressing her chest against the man, her busty self nearly bursting from her bodice as the pressure increased even further - such an atrocious display of sensuality, he was revolted! Probably only because he was smoldering in jealousy.

      Quite casually, the crimson haired creature looked up from the siren in his midst, and towards Kirin, catching his gaze in an instant and keeping it as the younger immortal flushed with a sudden rise of indignity, of offense, of hurt that clutched his chest. There was simply nothing in those amber orbs, no entreaty, no emotion, nothing but a dull stare. He did not move to displace the woman, but allowed her to writhe in his lap. There was a sharp, piercing pain in Kirin’s chest, his heart clenching and crushing itself inward, and a part of him begged him to turn around, to leave, to run away from this thing he had known he would find all along.

     But that was a meek, weak part of himself, a child that had always been given everything he had ever wanted, and never been bold enough to demand anything that wasn’t freely offered. Angeles was his - he found him. He saved him - or the other way around, it didn’t matter. That demon, that nightmare, that beautiful monster was his, and why should he simply stand there and watch her try to claim otherwise?

     Self doubt warned him against it, the cautious Kirin that wanted to study this situation more, to decipher the best avenue for success, but those thoughts couldn’t stop the sudden urge that seized him to move forward, to smile with the coldest courtesy his icy nature could muster, and speak with a civility that was nearly painful.

     “What a terrible accident, Lady Tasha,” his voice was like needles in his throat, forced out with great effort, though he managed to maintain the composure of a gentleman as he reach down, ever so delicately to take Tasha’s hand. This act seemed to surprise her, to demand her attention fall upon him more fully, and just in time - a sudden jerk was all that he needed to dislodge the woman from her post, and he had sense enough to do so with enough grace that she could find her feet. If only briefly, for a moment later found him twisting around her, shifting their positions, and allowing him to fall back with great finesse and purpose onto the lap he had ousted her from. “This seat is taken.”

     Apparently, she had not been expecting anything close to a rebuttal, though the surprise did not last long on her face; Lady Tasha was quite accustomed to thinking on her feet, once she had found them solidly beneath her. “That was most inappropriate, my dear Lord,” she said stiffly, in a tone controlled enough not to gather too much attention. Best to keep her embarrassment to a minimal, he supposed, in case she did not walk away from this altercation victorious.

     “Why, you are correct, my Lady. It is very rude to take what isn’t yours,” he countered with minimal effort, his own attention shifting away from the woman and towards the man he was suddenly too close to. Until that moment, there was a bubble of tension in his stomach, a dagger piercing his heart, and a belief - however pathetic - that this would all go terribly wrong. That Angeles would depose him instead of Tasha, or maybe that everyone would just drop dead - the paranoia the mind musters up has no bounds. However, it took only a glance at the satisfied smile on his monster’s face to realize that the bastard had been impassive on purpose, to provoke Kirin to action. “Angeles is mine.”

     He wondered if the new-found king felt insecurity sometimes as well.

     Tasha had never lost easily, and therefore it was very unsurprising that she was yet undaunted, if somewhat ruffled. Straightening to her full height, and smoothing the fabric of her scarlet gown, she took a moment before reaching out in a gesture that likely mocked his own, just moments before, to grasp Kirin’s hand as she stated, “What ever might have blossomed between you and Angeles in prison cannot be confused with the reality of the present, my Lord-!”

     Her touch never managed to connect with him, for she was intercepted by none other then the vice grasp of Angeles, who turned his cool stare upon her now. “You will take care not to address me too informally, Lady Difein.” The tone was harsh enough to discourage even the most persistent, and Kirin recognized the signs of pain that suddenly transformed Tasha’s expression, looking quite stricken with the sudden shift. For a very, very fleeting moment, Kirin almost felt sorry for the woman. Almost, and very briefly. It lasted perhaps as long as her pain did - within a few moments, that hurt transformed into sharp rage, and she snatched her hand back, glowering between Kirin and Angeles.

     “Do not think that I will tolerate being treated so obscenely,” she stated in a sharp, escalating tone that no doubt would gather too much attention.

     The slight Unlair noble simply stared up at her, undaunted by her unspoken threat and challenge. “I think you ought to have some semblance of modesty if you wish to feign offense at the obscene, my Lady.”

     Those soft green eyes of hers turned suddenly dark, staring daggers down at the dark haired man, and her tongue was equally savage, “Mayhaps I do not possess a modesty that upholds your archaic standards, Lord Kirin, but I do maintain my dignity - and I don’t have to hide behind my family’s skirts any time trouble brews.” Her steely stare turned towards Angeles at this, and she added with a mirthless smirk, “Though it seems you have someone knew to hide behind. How fortunate - did your sister teach you to spread your legs, or is that a natural talent of your family?” At this point, it became obvious she was making a scene on purpose, though to what end Kirin could not contrive - perhaps to paint herself a victim and garner some support in the court. There were fools enough for such a ploy to be effective, he had no doubt.

     But when he heard the resounding slap of skin connecting to skin, he knew she had just taken it too far.

     A blossom of red spread across the soft tanned flesh of Angeles’ cheek from the point of impact, and though likely everyone within view was looking shocked and horrified, the man himself was looking exceptionally unperturbed by the assault. It was quickly accompanied by a shrill, bordering hysterical exclamation, “As if I would ever marry such an uncouth cad!”

     There was a shift in the man beneath him, a tension that rippled quite tangibly through his form, an altering of his up to nonchalant aura into something dark, innately dangerous. It caused a new and different tension to grip Kirin’s stomach, a fear that made him realize that - whatever fantasy he may have contrived - he wasn’t actually interested in watching Lady Tasha die. She was a vain creature, but she was mostly harmless… At least, as long as she refrained from pursuing Angeles further. This revelation, that occurred alongside the harsh glare that was suddenly directed at the lady in question from his crimson demon, was the only rationale behind what compelled him to reach up and ensnare a fistful of sanguine hair, pulling the blood thirsty brute down into a kiss.

     There was resistance, initially, as the offense was left to hang in the air, as the rebuttal that was on Angeles’ lips was stolen by the soft mouth and entreating tongue of the violet eyed immortal; a hesitance to open the mouth and accept such a distraction, for certainly he could not have been ignorant to the aim of such overt affection. Thus, when the brute yielded, when his arms shifted to wrap around the slighter man, when the kiss deepened with guarded passion, Kirin knew that he was successful, at least for the moment, of preventing this ordeal from further escalation.

     Yet, just to be sure, when he pulled away from the kiss, when that moment of desire ebbed away, he kept his arms wrapped around the king’s neck and turned his face towards Tasha, who was standing with a most flabbergasted expression if ever he saw one. “Dear hostess, I believe it may be in the interest of everyone for you to excuse yourself now. Promptly.”

     The poor, offended noble woman did not lose easily - she never had, and likely never would. But her companion had some sense, and miss Nina moved to take her arm, whispered something in her ear, and convinced her to leave - though not without putting on a vibrant display of a wounded lover to anyone who paused to bid her farewell. It was only when the doors shut behind her that Kirin relaxed and let Angeles go - unconsciously having held him in a hug, a way to prevent him from turning his attention elsewhere.

     The arrogant smirk that adorned his lips as Kirin withdrew indicated that he did not mind the position in the least.


	39. Yours and Mine

     There was a familiar heat in those pools of gold that stared down at the raven haired immortal, a triumphant expression lending his features a devilish arrogance and beauty all at once. It stirred an anxious and excited twist in Kirin’s stomach, and then - abruptly - he became very conscious of the feel of stares focused upon the two. So as to minimize his embarrassment, he had the tact to not glance about the room for confirmation, but was acutely reminded of the very intimate scene that just played out in front of half the relevant court - perhaps all of it. He hadn’t really taken the time to identify everyone.

     With this revelation fresh in his mind, he attempted to nonchalantly disentangle his arms from Angeles’ neck completely, making it very obvious that he was seeking a little more distance as he pushed off the broader male’s shoulders - but a subtle and polite retreat did not appear to be in the cards for the suddenly bold immortal, since his companion decided to add some extra challenge to the act by wrapping his arms around Kirin’s waist, covertly sliding a hand down his thighs - mercifully, the table was high enough that the act couldn’t be easily observed.

     There was a sudden touch of mischief in those amber orbs, and the smirk expanded into something truly dastardly as Angeles practically purred, “Isn’t this your seat, my little Lord?”

     It wasn’t so much regret as simple, adulterated embarrassment that sent hot flames of blush to infuse his cheeks with sanguine color, but keeping the crowd in mind, he had no decent way to hide this fact from the key individual he would have liked to. This displeasure betrayed itself in the form of a pout that briefly found residence on his mouth - until the man took a deep breath, and summoned his noble composure enough to retort, “More mine than another’s, that is for certain - but I fear this display is quite overt for such a mellow gathering, do you not agree? Perhaps the drama of the day has played out enough, your majesty.”

     “What is any good banquet without a show?” Angeles’ lilting voice was laced with evident amusement, rousing a sudden concern in Kirin that other people could hear it.

     That was a dreadful reaction, he decided. How petty and vulgar. How positively common of him. And yet, as he allowed himself to yield to curiosity and give a cursory glance down the long table, he noted too many gossiping circles looking their way. A few blushing damsels and dams. A slight noble woman with golden curls caught his eyes and proceeded to giggle impishly, leaving him terribly sour with the mere idea of what could have provoked such a reaction. He regretted his curiosity, and returned his attention to his crimson lover.

     Deciding that he would rather a speedy escape, and contriving that there were few paths he could pursue to achieve such an end, Kirin capitalized on his new found confidence and recent win to attempt just that. Allowing one of his arms to once again curl around Angeles’ neck, he utilized it to pull himself up against the man’s chest, so that he might whisper into the larger brute’s ear ever so faintly, in the lowest and most sultry voice he could must - which was, honestly, a new art form for him that he hadn’t quite mastered, “Ah, but I have always been fondest of a private show. I am inclined to give you one…. In our room.” His other hand employed the true measure of his courage, reaching down as delicately as he could muster, a slow and deliberate descent so as to not attract any attention from immediate neighbors, and ventured daringly between Angeles’ thighs to relate, without a shadow of doubt, what precisely he could be referring to.

     There was a definite reaction to this ploy, however untrained he might be in the seductive methods, and for a brief, glorious moment, he was very certain that he had succeeded in his aims - and then, to his utter horror, he heard, “Your Majesty, Lord Kirin, we were just coming to greet our hostess, but it seems she has disappeared!”

     The sweet, innocent notes of Lyla’s voice were just a prelude to his sister’s cheery greeting in accompany to such, which left Kirin in a most awkward circumstance - while the position he was in was not, in and of itself, indicative of what he was just attempting, it was suggestive enough to any keen onlooker of what precisely was happening. And, as the unfortunate fates would find it, most immortals were fairly keen and worldly.

     “Brother! Would you look at that, Lady Tasha just left looking most dejected! And my, don’t you look comfortable?” There was a teasing quality to her voice as Riveh’s footsteps, the soft click clacking of heels against marble flooring, came to a stop close enough that her perfume was filling the immediate area with light, pleasant notes of peony. It mixed and complimented well with the lilies Lyla was so fond of wearing, and simply served as solid proof that he was effectively undermined by his darling little sister, and would not be obligated to re-position himself as covertly as possible so as not to garner more superstition that present.

     “Oh, so he is! Should we come back later?” Lyla jested lightly in a sing-song voice.

     “I am not sure, do you think we will get him back from His Majesty?”

     The deep, hearty notes of Angeles’ laugh cut through the awkward hair Kirin was feeling, and jostled him to some sense, causing the man to relax down into his lap so that he might have a better view of his expression.

    “Dear ladies,” the normally cruel man spoke in smooth and relaxing tones, apparently feeling very full of himself following the current events of the evening. “Both of your are blooming this evening, but I fear our guest of honor has exhausted himself from the excitement. I will have to escort him back to bed.”

     The pair set off into giggles, and Riveh’s lilac eyes sparkled with a mischief that he would regret later.

     Alarms warned Kirin to stop Angeles, since such a retreat now - well, it would just increase the amount of material his sister would have to tease him about later. However, at the same time, he found it a merciful act, and therefore did not say more on the subject, save to bid his sister and her friend goodbye as Angeles stood up with all the effortless grace of an egret, Kirin in tow, and moved to stride from the banquet hall. The motion provided the opportunity for the slight male to adjust both his arms securely around the man’s neck, but he was not so fortunate as to miss the fact that all the eyes of the room turned to watch them depart.

     If he was only presently rumored to be the king’s bed partner, it was not confirmed, and would be something completely different by tomorrow - he had no doubt. Tasha a spurred fiance, Kirin a harlot. He did not really care what the gossip mill would produce, but there was a part of him that was mildly irked by the incessant nature of society - any society - to live vicariously through the trouble and turmoil of the lives of others.

     It wasn’t something he was able to dwell on long. As the pair departed the hall, his guards were waiting beyond, and proceeded to stalking them on their way back to the room. This set of new onlookers encouraged him to state plainly, in as nonchalant a tone as he could manage - which was passable, thanks to his years of practice. “I can walk, Angeles.”

    “Can you? I was certainly your knees would be too weak to manage the act.” It was certainly a joke, though the man had lost much of the jesting tone, which made it come across more sarcastic and somewhat unnerving.

     “Is that a, ‘No, I won’t put you down’?”

     “Was that what you were asking?”

     “Don’t be daft,” Kirin complained.

     “Don’t be obtuse,” Angeles retorted.

     “Please let me walk,” there was a hint of irritation that was rising from their impromptu debate, that was being witnessed by his family guards not five feet behind them.

     “No,” Angeles answered plainly, though not without a smirk of conceit tainting his features.

     The rest of the walk was spent pouting, and thinking, by the slighter male who did not wish any further debate to be susceptible to even more gossip. He had not seen Angeles in such a mood before, which he wondered about. Having deduced some time ago, shortly after Tasha left, that his aloof nature prior to Kirin’s interference was likely an act for none other than his own benefit, he wondered at the source of such an act. The present deduction was revenge - Kirin had tested his trust, and it would be sensible to return the favor.

     It felt, in many ways, as though just when Kirin felt he earned an inch, he discovered another mile of mystery to trudge through. But at least now, on this current evening, he felt willing to make the effort.

     When the pair arrived at their shared room, Angeles did finally put Kirin down, only so that he might cast a most unpleasant glower at the guard that were shadowing them and very forcefully slam the door in front of them. It was an unnecessary display, as the guard never entered a private room behind their charge unless the need arose, but he supposed that having shadows was bothersome to Angeles in a manner different from Kirin. Perhaps he found their presence an offense, since they had been left by Rahil to protect Kirin, probably from Angeles. Or perhaps something had occurred while he was incapacitated. It would be next to impossible to know without asking, but it was not a subject the young lord was invested in learning at this present opportunity.

     Long after the sound of the slamming door faded, the pair stood in silence. At first, it felt very natural, allowing the events of the evening to sink in, to fade away, giving in to the peace of personal companionship. However, as it was prolonged, Kirin began to feel an awkward, uncomfortable sense of anxiety clenching at his heart. The paranoia of a weak man.

     Rather than waiting for Angeles, the slight male turned and headed for the closet, to relieve himself of the heavier trappings of formal attire, his coat and vest. His companion did not seem to move, or at least not perceptively, but when Kirin emerged from the side chamber, the red haired creature was seated on the bed with his violet coat discarded beside him, an inexplicable expression clouding his eyes. Curious, the young noble approached, reaching a hand out to rest on Angeles shoulder and pull his focus back to reality.

     “There is a sudden shift in you - what is on your mind?” The question was innocent enough, and asked in a polite tone, though it resulted in a displeased furrowing of the king’s brow that prompted the noble to withdraw his touch.

     Apparently, that was not the cause for concern, for the larger male captured the retreating limb and pulled Kirin down in a gentle but firm motion, gathering him up to sit, for the second time that evening, but perhaps not the last, in the brute’s lap.

     “My mind was wandering - nothing to worry about.” And without allowing for much rebuttal, he swiftly changed the subject with a simple, “You have always talked a big game, but I believe tonight was the first time you played one. You ought demonstrate such an assertive nature more often; I find it most appealing.”

     The flattering was not missed, and though Kirin wished to press further into a subject so easily dismissed, he decided it would do him no good at this venture to make the attempt; instead, he filed it away under the many, many answers he would acquire in time. With a faint blush betraying his embarrassment at the latter comment, the man managed to keep his voice clear when he answered, “I should not have had to - are you going to allow just anyone to hang all over you? Fighting off suitors will quickly become exhausting for me.”

     “What do you propose the alternative should be?” Angeles countered with the hint of some amusement in his soft, lilting voice.

     “Don’t allow others to touch you intimately.” Saying it outright summoned forth further color of embarrassment, but he was quite proud that his voice remained firm. Lavender eyes stared solidly up at their golden counterparts, inquisitively searching for the answer even before it was spoken.

     “As you wish,” Angeles stated, to his surprise.

     Blinking away that emotion, Kirin asked plainly, “That easily? You promise?”

     “I don’t lie,” Angeles said with some impression of offense, albeit subtle. “If you require a promise to reassure you, I feel you will be disappointed - if I were to be a liar, whether a promise is made or not will make no difference. You have my word; that is insufficient?”

     Something seemed different, though Kirin was unsure what. But the close proximity, the subject of their conversation, and the usual bubbling excitement that filled him were different, and he was left with a feeling that was at once exhilarating and nauseating. He wasn’t quite sure if it was pleasant or not. There was a greater depth to Angeles’ words, though - the man insisted on maintaining a blunt nature that also managed to mask any depth of intentions. It was positively frustrating. However, he was not wrong - paranoia here was not helpful, and whether the assurance was given in so many words as a promise or not, it did not make it any more valid.

     “No. I accept your words. I was just surprised,” he managed calmly.

     “So was I,” Angeles countered. “But then again, you are the one who said it.”

     “Said what?” Kirin asked.

     “You are mine, and I am yours,” the man stated simply, leaning down to press into a kiss, something soft and delicate - a sweet exchange of subtle sensuality.

     Hearing that from the lips of his lover was as much of a confession of tangible feelings as anything else - and it summoned forth a terror of butterflies to assault his stomach, sending it into a torrent of somersault that made that queasy, pleasant feeling spread throughout his entire being.

     “Yours and mine,” Kirin said breathlessly, as Angeles pulled away, his soft gaze taking in the sudden tender nature in his companions face. Sudden, and short lived - a devilish smirk was quick to take shape on those sumptuous lips.

      “Now, what was this about a private show?”


End file.
